Souls scream in the still of the night, Twisted, disheveled ‘n hidden from sight. Your troubles, your worries, you're caught in their leer, The nightwalkers search - you've everything to fear. With your conscience not clear, there's no time to sound, As the fleet footed assassins devour the ground. The hounds have your sent, so surrender, confess, To your god forsaken ‘n unholy mess. Confusion abound, what hell have been found, As empathy`s grip entwines your very sinews to the ground.