Sheol

They're lost and in thrall to darkness as they descend
Into the netherworld where there's no time to wend
They once scoured the heavens from their pits of toil
But when they passed they were led beneath the soil

There's a path to the deepest of all the darkest depths
Where the milling shadows along its course are swept
Into the inky silent stillness, where all mortals follow
The final place when there's no more time to borrow

In Sheol they'll be, even if the living try to find an ember
And seek out the souls of shades, like the Witch of Endor
With necromancy the dead'll stir, but they'll never leave
But they may shape the darkness for those who grieve

Conjuration will never raise the dead, for we are them
When all we are is drifting shadows, it's not if, but when
We're all in thrall to darkness, when the last light fades
And we descend into the netherworld of Sheol's shades