running through a cold rain as if the pace could keep you dry the trap round my leg underneath this maze of pine clothes catching nails under the wire over the rail as if they were always there for you where i belong is to the crows and carrion following a harpy song so easily amused hell fires roar pulling the iron out of the ore fashioning a bastard sword to carve through frail worlds away covered in holes cleansed in flame and if there is another way i would choose the blade cutting through the fog bank underneath this diving bell in this world on this plane i could never quite break the spell down down the stairs and up the steps again my compendium of concrete and they try to bend me to their will and they re trying still darkness held in shadow of the ashen hill incorporeal bloodbath up the stairs and down the steps again my compendium concrete