Flee now sweet princes
Turn thine princely coat...
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...
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...
The plague pits, far from empty
Stir beneath your feet...
He has walked the pit
Wrapped in midnights cloak...