• My fingers are bloody from piano keys,
    in the night's final hour.
    My heart is decayed and eyes of stone.
    My tongue has burned and turned sour.
    Let these ghosts and friends and lovers walk,
    among the others that lay decayed,
    I am the muse of horror shows,
    And tonight is my show to fame.
    With head in hand and fingers twelve
    I stroke across the board,
    and my piano cries out to the sky,
    to the undead, tattered and torn.

    Tell-tale hearts and wrathful minds,
    the ghosts in the graveyard take their time,
    With the muse of death, they sing in rhyme,
    for the fearful in the night.
    "We all passed away,
    but our soul lives after day.
    And although our flesh has worn and decayed,
    Let our screams strike fear into those who pray!"

    With my severed head singing the sullen tune,
    and the devil keeping in time,
    In white suit and tie, and blood covered gloves,
    I cast this song of mine.
    I am the Ghost of the Muse tonight!
    I will sit at this piano and bleed!
    Out in the graveyard to my delight,
    The souless come to reap.

    And whispered by mourning...


    Tell-tale hearts and wrathful minds,
    the ghosts in the graveyard take their time,
    With the muse of death, they sing in rhyme,
    for the fearful in the night.
    "We all passed away,
    but our soul lives after day.
    And although our flesh has worn and decayed,
    Let our screams strike fear into those who pray!"