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

Softly fallen autumn rain
Makes a folly of the brake...

A lone tree once grew on a cliff
In a time of great fire...

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

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

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

My heart is trash
It spills its juice...

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

Rats scrabble within these thin walls
What once was majestic now eaten alive...

I’m gonna say
And you’re gonna say if you dig it or you...

These alien things
So green...

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