It's not the dead that haunt this mind, my dear;

No grave-bound wraith can frighten me.

The living are what these young bones most fear.

When spirits flee from their glass prisons clear,

The veil descends so I can't see.

It's not the dead that haunt this mind, my dear.

The crowd constricts; we stand too tight, too near,

And bravery abandons me.

The living are what these young bones most fear.

Toward strange and dark domains my heart does steer;

So far from light my kindred be.

It's not the dead that haunt this mind, my dear.

But mem'ries past and future keep me here,

While demons howl and ghosts run free.

The living are what these young bones most fear.

Though as a gift this Sight may first appear,

In truth, I fear I must disagree.

It's not the dead that haunt this mind, my dear.

The living are what these young bones most fear.