Sentenced to relive the night, Scented with a steel's delight. A lustrous orb at the central core, Essential to the shadow's lore. A sword to slay the slumbering beast, Sworn to the heartless priest. A cave of dark, impassioned ordeal, A testament to a twisted appeal. Painted walls of sickening red, The castle within echoes dread. Dyed black are the hands of the maid, Dancing on a corpse's grave. Ashamed at her being seen, She turned away and left the scene. She hurried back, grasping a spade, A crowd in tow—A ghostly parade. Foul odours stuff the room, A nauseating chamber of doom. Porcelain dolls across the passageway, Creepy voices saying they want to play. A melody of agony, of torment to hear, Boldly flirts with a bleeding ear. Suddenly, they all quiet down, For silence's turn to play around. Closer and closer, footsteps reach, A shadow cast with a grating screech. From his coat, he pulls out a tape, And he says, "There's no escape!"