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Portrait
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Son Of All Graves
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
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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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