sometimes in the darkest hour over lands that have no name , my spirit leaves my bodys power and escapes its fleshy grave ; out in darkness flies my essence , never falling from its height ; even thought eludes my presence , etched in shadow , lost to light ; looking down from high above me , seeing things like none before ; every aspect of the scenery cross the gray and empty shore seems to whisper in the darkness , drawing out a chilling sweat , and reaches out with firm caresses and the gentle kiss of death ; volumes ripple through the stillness spoken to the walking dead ; i return to roost , still restless , in my coffins cushioned bed but the body isnt comfy , and the pillow is enslaved , and i realize rather numbly im in someone elses grave !