There is no great truth behind this
Nor no great lie to tell...

Caustic causes fade away
To reveal the infernal...

I have been to Langley
I have seen the white stone crypt...

Through the cracks
She sadly slips...

In his house he is god
A god of pain and flaying...

Beyond oaken facade dark and worn
What monsters conceived and born...

No solace in dark dreams
In sleep there’s just dread...

The father asked for a cliche
He moulded us in this way...

Feel like I want to write about
A girl who hates her own skin...

I feel like you are waiting for me my friend
Waiting for the wolf to let me in...

The leaves die and fall
Some cling on like a rat in a dry well...

Through king of man provoking fear
While god like saints walk apse of white...