Undertaker’s Daughter and the Ghost Poet

Hell Calls Me

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Undertaker’s Daughter and the Ghost Poet

Verse I
She learns the language of quiet things,
Bone-white rooms and brass-hand rings,
Names sewn shut in velvet thread,
While the town pretends its dead are dead.

He lives where the wind forgets its shape,
In ink-stained snow and paper drape,
A ghost who writes on what won’t stay—
Words that melt before the day.

Pre-Chorus
But something listens in the ground,
Where silence learns to make a sound…

Chorus
Oh, undertaker’s daughter, don’t you know?
The dead still read the letters you don’t show.
And the ghost poet writes you into stone,
In margins only graves have known.
You bury names, he gives them flight—
Two hands that never touch the light.

Verse II
She folds the past in cedar sleep,
Where promises are buried deep,
But every coffin, every seam,
Holds echoes of his midnight dream.

He sends her verses through the frost,
Where ink dissolves and gets lost,
Yet every winter finds her door
With words she’s never seen before.

Pre-Chorus
And in the hush of frozen air,
She reads him like he isn’t there…

Chorus
Oh, undertaker’s daughter, don’t you know?
The dead still read the letters you don’t show.
And the ghost poet writes you into stone,
In margins only graves have known.
You lay them down, he calls them bright—
Two hearts that write into the night.

Bridge
They meet in epitaph and frost,
In every soul the world has lost,
She traces names beneath the snow,
He answers where the cold winds go.
No touch, no breath, no human vow—
Only the after, only now.

Final Chorus
Oh, undertaker’s daughter, don’t you see?
The grave was always a library.
And the ghost poet, drifting through the pine,
Writes her forever between the lines.
She keeps the bodies, still and white—
He keeps their voices through the night.

Outro
So if you find a letter where the cold things grow,
Signed in ink you’ll never know—
Don’t ask if it was death or art…
Just listen for a beating heart.