The Withers Veil - with Deliabear

She comes to me in a moment's serenity.
A wolf worshiping the moon with craters of secrets.
In shadows where the howling winds blow.
  
An owl's ominous call gives chills to the marrow.
In deep fathoms pulsing dark tongue of night.
As the essence of the shell folds to pale.

Shaking the gate of the withers veil.
Where the wolf creeps from the chamber of Hell.
With the cold breath of the pulsing dark tongue of night.