DARHK - Oakhaven

This one took me a while. I read quite a few old gothic poems while getting a feel for writing these lyrics. I changed them a few times, changed the odd line a few times. I'm quite happy with the result. Enjoy Please like, comment, and share if you can. Any tips from other creators are welcome, as is any advice you may have. Lyrics: [Verse 1] The iron gates of Oakhaven groaned, Flesh upon weeping rust, The midnight mist it curled and moaned, Finding refuge where it must. Creeping over jagged stones, It hung upon the castle walls, Escaping from the bitter wind, And howling down the vacant halls. [Verse 2] Inside the scriptorium, Lit only by fat fed flame, He dipped his quill into the dark, So, other’s might hear his name, Dripping coagulated ink, Across and unmarked page, His hands shook, he could not think, Of times that past an age. [Chorus] The parchment breathes, the vellum sighs, Where buried gods and demons rise. The chapel floor grows damp with blood, That seeps from myth into the mud. A horned king in winding sheet, With cloven hoof and dragging feet, Ascends the stair of broken bone, To claim the abbot’s vacant throne. [Verse 3] Memories of times long past, He’d left them far behind, And now he came to write at last, from the cadence in his mind. A rhythm that was not his own, Beat behind his temple still, Like a heavy, leaden hammer thrown Against a darkened chill. [Verse 4] He whispered all the lines aloud, His voice still tastes of ash, His words they formed a dismal cloud, The page now held a gash. The old parchment held a history, Of pain and fallen saints, of the Holy Order’s mystery A bloody art it paints. [Chorus] The parchment breathes, the vellum sighs, Where buried gods and demons rise. The chapel floor grows damp with blood, That seeps from myth into the mud. A horned king in winding sheet, With cloven hoof and dragging feet, Ascends the stair of broken bone, To claim the abbot’s vacant throne. [Verse 5] The words had spilled upon the page, They wait a throat to give them breath, Secrets hidden for quite an age, And within them promises of death. Darkness, cold and suffocating, Swallowed up the room, In the heavy blackness waiting, A sudden ending loomed. Terror, cold and crystalline, He froze into his seat, Claws gripped at his aching spine, And clamped his boney feet. [Outro] The ink is dry, the final stave, The writer writes his own dark grave. No dawn shall break, no sun shall rise, Beneath the monster's hungry eyes.