Shrine of The Crows - The Crooked Lantern

They say the swamp don’t take what it don’t want. But once it does, it keeps. Every prayer, every breath, every sound… it keeps. I been walkin’ through the water half my life, Draggin’ every ghost that called me right. The cypress lean like they know my name, And their roots drew blood from the shape I became. Every step feels like I’m sinkin’ home, Every root tears through flesh and bone. There’s light ahead, but it ain’t divine, Just a crooked lantern swingin’ on a line. Oh, the crooked lantern lights the way, Guidin’ the damned through the swamp’s embrace. The reeds all whisper what the dead men say, Just the hum of the mire where the lost ones stay. The water rose and it spoke in tongues, Said “Every hymn’s been left unsung.” I felt the roots curl ’round my knees, Their grip was prayer, their pull was peace. The lantern swayed like a dying lung, Breathing smoke where the dead once clung. I heard my name in the cattail’s cry, And I knew right then I’d come to die. Oh, the crooked lantern lights the way, Guidin’ the damned through the swamp’s embrace. The reeds all whisper what the dead men say, Just the hum of the mire where the lost ones stay. The moon hangs low like a bloodshot eye, Watchin’ the dead still try to die. The trees bend close, their branches all grin, And the roots sing low where the soul gives in. The lantern went out where the water swells, Left me alone with the sound of hollow bones. Ringin’ like the bells on a church with no one home, Ringin’ for the names the swamp still owns. Now I drift where the levee broke, My lungs fill up with prayer and smoke. I hear the living kneel and plead, Their prayers dissolve where the dark runs deep. Oh, the crooked lantern lights the way, Guidin’ the damned through the swamp’s embrace. The reeds all whisper what the dead men say, Just the hum of the mire where the lost ones stay. The crooked lantern went out, And the night came down to listen. The silence hummed, In tongues of rot and funeral drums. The air thick of mosquitos buzzing and amphibian hymns, The night became grim, a chill unearthed in the dim swamp light. The mire closes it’s eyes, and something ancient stirred beneath the still water’s skin…