Woorden: Tad Morose. A Mended Rhyme. The Vacant Lot.

Underneath lie barely seen and rarely touched All things untold Stone upon
stone So foul, so cold A shadow of old
Into the night Driven by what none can see Scarcely bound but hardly free

A shadow of old A story untold A gathering rot The vacant lot

A stray dog send shivers down your spine The remnant wall stand ever the
same Hair of the dog won't help you at all

The street's all deserted We'll swallow you whole
Our minds intermingle a raven so black A spiralling stairway keep calling
you back Tentacles, tentacles tighten their grip Downwards in circles the
deadliest trip
We mould you impassive all tainted and sore Abiding our master keep calling
you Tentacles, tentacles tighten their grip Downwards in circles the
deadliest trip