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The Crevices Below
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Carrying The Cries Of The Lost
An eerie wind blows through the twisting passages
They carry the cries of the lost and the dying
And all who hear their pain suffer the knowledge of despair
Oh dark lord, up on your throne
You always hear the cries
And there is nothing you can do
But to rule with a turned eye
The howling drives your paranoia
When sleeping you keep one eye open
Oh dark lord, you rule these blackened land
But there is more you desire
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It hides as deep as these great caves
But burns as bright as the torches' flames
The howling wind, calling you to your death
Down from your throne, you leave your kingdom
And wander to the darkness never to return
And now the whispers that ride the winds
And fill our ears with despair
Are from your very lips.
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