Hills are quite
Towns filled with innocence
Sun dies behind the mountain
The deep ones from the corners of the room expand their arms, dangled and frail
The voice cryptic with three times the tone of a human
Fear injects the mind
All that is fresh
All that is flesh
Rows of spines are starting to move
Arms of the kings are proud again, we are plunged into a reality of terror and everlasting night
Laughter heard from the sky
Tomb of our queen, broken
Our jackal in sight
The deep ones from the corners of the room expand their arms, dangled and frail. The voice cryptic with three times the tone of a human
They repeat to me one last final word Quite
