The ghosts that saunter through my thoughts
are wraiths of shadow's blight,
they steal my joy and torture me,
but faith puts them to flight.

When haunted by those fetid dreams
and fears my soul would grasp,
repeated visions, open wounds
rubbed raw by horror's rasp.

These bells that tolled their gongs of gloom
now echoes of my past,
they have no power, nor captive hold,
those chimes can never last.

For no dark past can ransom me
nor can it have its way,
I hold to truth, assuage the night,
the dark cannot pierce day.

The spectres of my past laid bare,
exposed by Heaven's Son,
in God I trust, my lamp burns strong,
their hold on me is gone.