Echoing throughout the night 
Tiptoeing through the blight.
Tripping over the fallen dead
I wish this was all in my head.
This lengthy killing field
To none have I kneeled. 
The ghostly feel is numbing
I can feel, him, Death coming.
Hearing the trees in the wind
Walking faster, as if I sinned.
Flip up my collar against the breeze
Hands in pockets so they don't freeze.
Hearing the whispers once more
Shivering and cold to my core.
In salutem nobis Mortem
Satentia, quasi eius antemortem.
Listening to the Latin tongues
Spoken from the foreign lungs.
Now, I hear footsteps in mine
Thinking that I was just fine.
But blood trailing from the knives,
Dug into my back from all the lies.
Trip over my own body lying there
Death helps me up, with such care.
Patris perfecta mors est,
Qui et mortuus est, perfectus.
Keeping us close, closer than Life
Not allowing our backs to be knifed.
We are not able to find Death
He will find us in our last breath.
And care for eternities to come
No longer feel empty and numb.