Let me tell you of a place, they call Lighthouse Bay.
Where the tower always glows, be it night or day.
From the sea, drifts in the fog, blowing forward with the breeze.
It shrouds the cliffsides in darkness and makes the gardens freeze.
The locals live quietly, ignoring the decay.
They have all they need here; they're used to this way.
Though they stay, they live with a chilling unease.
Existing with the mistakes of their family trees.
You see, this town has a secret, a debt to repay.
The dead wander freely here, they never go away.
From the man who burned alive, in a flaming heap.
To the women in cloaks, who walk and weep.
At the schoolhouse, a ghoul demands to play.
The hooked fisherman is still sailing after his prey.
Our before is our now, it affects all the land.
Try to escape if you want, it burrows in the sand.
You may think to yourself,
What a horror,
What a fright.
But the Bay isn't so different,
And here's why.
Every town has their ghosts and spirits of the damned.
Our past is always lurking no matter where we stand.
It glooms over our daydreams and hunts in our sleep.
At least in Lighthouse Bay, we know where it creeps.
