I keep the dead and the dead keep me.

We are cold and dark, we are

one and we are many,

we wait and we wait, so sing the dead.

So sing I: grow, rise, follow.

So sing I: those not of heaven, those not of hell,

grow, rise, follow.

Unbaptized and unblessed, come to me from

where you flutter in the branches of the oaks.

Wretched half-demons who

lay curled in the dirt,

trapped by my power, rise up and follow.

Your day is coming.

Hear my voice. Prepare to feast.

Maggie Stiefvater, Ballad