Sweeping down the misty streets
Swaying with the wind
No direction is needed
For the wandering spirit...

His eyes are black pits
And hold no emotion
Yet the wrinkles on his brow
Express the pain within...

Those who see him
Will fall dead instantly
For their hearts cannot withstand
The sight of ultimate depression...

His robes of ripped cloth
Flow around him
Enveloping him in a veil
A prison for his soul...

Think twice before following him
This ghost of utter sadness
For he will only lead you
Nowhere...