(Music by Rebecca Loftiss and Frank Suchomel; Vocals by Rebecca Loftiss and Dean F. Wilson)
The ChallengeLyrics by Dean F. Wilson
I waited in middle moments, in the hidden hours,
And cast my ears like spells unto every little sound;
A creak or tap I heard; is that the speech of powers
That have no mouths in places where they are spectres bound?
In answer to vocal questions came my rampant mind,
A million more inquiries that from my head would flee;
And yet my probing prayers are one by one all declined,
And so the voiceless was the only voice to greet me.
Then I spirit-spoke like the utterance of hammers,
A sharp sound that strikes the timeless clock across the veil.
The words that come, they all allure like charming glamours;
My ghostly voice works alchemy on your face turned pale.
So you called me now, and yet start at my arrival,
As if a guest invited should not attend the meal.
The panic in you whispers soft for your survival
And entreats the mind to tell the heart that I’m not real.
I called you forth, but are you that which you now claim?
Are you not the product of my tired and trickster head?
Come, tell me now – speak aloud your true and rightful name,
So I know I talk not to my own mind, but to the dead.
Give me a sign, some token to show that you are there,
A subtle hint, an object moved, some small proof of truth.
Manifest before me, cast some thing into the air,
And I will judge your being, I will be the spirit sleuth.
So you challenge me and hope inside that I accept.
You summon from within you the words that cause us strife,
Yet know little of the pacts that must by law be kept –
As if this were but some Faustian fable brought to life.
But if I reach to you with my ethereal touch
And seize you by the hand: What reaction will be met?
Will that be enough, or is even that perhaps too much?
What deed or word will do in this phantasmic duet?
You slither from my questions; this is not cold debate.
The books give clear instructions – I am to challenge you.
You can still answer much in your far-off spirit state,
And show me that what you say, and what you are, is true.
You are bound within the triangle, held by higher will,
But maybe you are a thing imprisoned in my mind,
An idea that was trapped, a thought that I distil,
And thus we talk within; the pact outside remains unsigned.
The challenge runs both ways, but you hoard up all the cards,
And should I not heed your call, then you shall cry “Avaunt!”
So then I flee, but now I’m locked within your occult guards,
An astral refugee in foreign lands, your favoured haunt.
No matter what I speak, show, or make from naught appear,
The question still exists: Are we one, or are we two?
We may not share in flesh, but we all share in this fear –
You seek the same as I: someone to believe in you.