Choral score

$1.60 per copy (you are buying a digital license)


A piano plays
in an empty room.
A baby cries
in the nursery.
When I look in the mirror 
it’s him I see.
He wants the life
that’s meant for me.
My teeth are brittle.
My body decays.
I feel myself
fading away
as he grows stronger.
The dead are greedy.
They try to grasp
any living soul
whenever they can.
They take our place
and we take theirs
in the netherworld
of old nightmares,
in the crumbling house,
in the pitch black Further. 
Their sheet-covered bodies 
fill a church of the dead.
A congregation full of dread 
and he is their minister. 
He’s the bride
who’ll wed the sin.
His dead soul is killing
my living skin.

- William Reichard
- Commissioned for this piece. Used with permission.