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