The Night the Coffins Breathed

In the dead of night when the moon is at its fullest A field of the dead lies barren and stones dullest The fog kisses the floor and the wind whispers its name As the birds of death stand amongst a tree's barren frame None are still as cries erupt from beneath Roots brace from the depths clawing the heath The earth splits and sand becomes dune As the lids of caskets cracked and fractured meet the moon Those who layeth inside leave the grace of their confines Tears spilling down cheeks of inked skin from empty eyes They leave void and stare into the darkness' light Bound by reason to rest naught and walk the night Fear not the dead who breathe For grief has shattered souls on this very eve