This avenue that leads from his burial I walk,
The trees watching over the dead,
Their leaves as white as the gravestones,
All I now see is my pistol raised at his head.

I am not a murderer, I am not a monster,
I am only a true friend.
As his mind wrestled in Arkham Asylum,
He begged me to bring him death.

A mansion inherited from his Uncle,
His journal a tale of madness and mayhem.
Creatures, rituals and astrological alignments,
A monolith rose in the dark lake.

My friend he swam out to the monolith,
The stars reflection broken in his wake.
My friend he touched the monolith,
Dragged under he suddenly became.

For months no body ever was raised,
The lake held the monolith in its depths,
When I offered my life to find my friend.
The monolith rose once again.

That night I dreamed of the ‘Deep Ones’,
A race of fish like men.
They answered the offering of my life,
They delivered the ‘Book of the Dead’.

The book I found in the hallway,
In the morning after I wake.
Surrounded by stagnant water,
And weeds that belong in the depths.

That evening I read from the book,
The blood from my wrists I gave.
A monstrous storm grew overhead,
Waves crashed upon the lake.

Unable to move from weakness,
through the window I saw the lake.
Upon the monolith sat a creature,
Its bulging eyes caught my gaze.

With thunder, the doors slammed open,
There stood before me my friend.
His skin pale and damp,
His eyes spoke of the dead.

He cursed me for bringing him back,
He spoke of life beyond death.
He screamed at his new masters,
To take him back to the depths.

In rage he smashed the lamp,
Ancient curtains rose in flame.
The family mansion burned,
Villagers pulled us from the flames.

My friend was committed whilst I was saved,
Upon his request a gun I rasied.
With his death I must complete the deal,
The ‘Deep Ones’, my  life must be claimed.

This avenue that leads from his burial I walk,
The trees watching over the dead.
I am a murderer, I am a monster,
I now serve Dagon, an eternity awaits.

Dedicated to HP Lovecraft