Be frightened of the blight,
do not doubt its power.
This demon of the night
Kills in the witching hour

Lurking in the shadows of your mind,
biding its time.
It peers into your soul,
Plotting to consume you whole.

It strikes jubilantly,
grinning at your weakness.
It stands triumphantly,
fallen to its decadence.

You feel deadened inside,
deadened inside.
You feel deadened inside,
deadened inside.
You feel deadened inside,
deadened inside.
You feel deadened inside,
deadened inside.
You are dead inside.

With nothing left you awaken,
igniting your hollow soul.
No longer will you be shaken,
The demon’s death is your goal.

Abandoning your fright,
now it is the demon who fears.
You fight against the night,
screaming like no one can hear.

In its eyes you see your image,
Reflections of your darkness.
Your power is now your cage,
to dark times it harkens.

You feel deadened inside,
deadened inside.
You feel deadened inside,
deadened inside.
You feel deadened inside,
deadened inside.
You feel deadened inside,
deadened inside.
You are dead inside.
You are dead inside.
Dead inside.

Now is your witching hour.