I am the son of all graves
All graveyards are holy to me
For they are not only what they seem
But portals through which the dead may redeem

My candle burns although cold winds blow
Without a trace of fear, further I go

Oh, this place of mourning
I kiss it's soil with love and with joy
And I pray for illumination
The blessing of Old

My candle burns although cold winds blow
Phantasms calling and I follow where they go

Hear my will and grant me the wisdom that you hold
In return I shall pay thee sevenfold

Thousands of tears have been swallowed
By this sacred dust
Where mighty powers dwell
And where I put all of my trust

Great guardian of this burial ground
Come grant me with thy pitch black presence

I am the son of all graves
All grave mounds are holy to me
Up here I can feel them
The spirits of the dead

And from here they can lead me
On the burning path on which I tread
I put aside all that life may learn
Feed the dead and pray for their return

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