I stood in front of the rickety gates,
Knowing that this would be my fate,
In a place that may hold eternal hate,
This place known as the Gloaming.

I open the gate and walk inside,
And I feel a chill run down my spine,
But something inside me says "you’ll be fine,"
This place known as the Gloaming.

In my wake there are several graves,
Where souls lay and will forever remain,
I look around for the one that I will claim,
This place known as the Gloaming.

I stop and fall upon my knees,
Where my grandfather lay in eternal sleep,
I do not cry or scream or weep,
This place known as the Gloaming.

I leave the flowers on the stone,
And walk through the gates that seem to moan,
I vault on my wyrm, destination: home,
This place known as the Gloaming.

As I look back from time to time,
I thought I heard a secret rhyme,
Chanting from the graves inside,
This place known as the Gloaming.