In the twist of evening to night I walk among the lost
They lay in wait – six feet under
Left to rot in eternal frost
Yet I walk to find the graves
The resting place of the four thieves
The owl hoots its beaconing call
As I roll up my pitch-black sleeves
Alas I’ve found my treasure trove
The resting place to one of the thieves
The sound of metal scraping Earth in the lone graveyard at night
The smells of dirt and sweat and bone swirling to the sky
One of lavender – one of thyme
One of parsley – and rosemary slide
Into the potion of vinegar strong
I conjure the spirit that’s long since gone!
Thief awaken unto my call!
Show me the money – where you put it all!
The air – it empties a tiring sigh
As knowledge appears within my mind
“Foolish Necromancer before me here
My treasures have been emptied in all my despair
The thieves have gone their separate ways
Too many now to count the days”
The owl hoots its interrupting call
A poor man I will stay.
The rain is heavy – as the night is cold
The village four miles away