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Cold is the sun burning black

Pale is the moon turning red

Surrounded by a sea of sorrow

The wind, it screams like the undead raveling your soul

Implanting desire

The shadows ahead

Beguiling and dire

The Isle of the Dead

Stare and age a thousand years

And crumble within a moment of time

Unwelcoming gates warning doom

Revealing the temple where she's consumed, by a curse

In there you'll find

Her poisonous eyes

The sentinel she watches

The Isle of the Dead

Serpent coils of despair

She gazes into the night's

Trembling air

A beauty of demise

In solitude unsanctified

A fragment of divine

The Isle of the Dead