Walking around the graveyard,
The mists are coming in

I feel the cold air on my skin
And I feel the final hour start

It's the hour of the devil
Or the hour of some good God

In the sky there's left, only one clear spot
That's dissapearing as the clouds draw level

They close in and the night turns black
Leaving no room for light, no room for hope

Walking around this graveyard, I know not how to cope
And I feel that from these mists, I will never turn back

I'm lost in the mists,
Lost in the mists of the hopeless night

I long to be in peace, yet I know I must fight
But how does one fight when lost in the mists?