Banshee wailing in the night
her screams forecast a morose plight.
With our last breath, she takes control.
She�s the caretaker of mortal souls.
She holds our future within her hands,
a tranquil heaven or a cruel waste land.
Our fates are sealed there�s no debate,
for a restless soul she patiently waits.
She�s our undead host, our shrouded guide
with her, our sins, we do confide.
She guards her flock, through pain and strife.
She�s the shepherd, of our afterlife.