We were walkers through the shadow,

Turning in from dark to dark,

Our feet fell heavy where the cruel walls

Laid down their chilling mark.

Our souls were cloudy with the shadow,

From first breath touched with cold.

Our years were short and dull and gray,

Not young, but always old.

No one knew us then, nor knows us now.

Death brings us a doubtful fame,

For we are walkers in an endless shadow

And we have no name.