| Strangled daylight fading, soon I’ll crawl out
|
| To whisper to the bones I’ve scattered about
|
| Arranging the bones
|
| The bones on the moor
|
| Seeds of the doomed
|
| So perfect they are
|
| We draw closer every time when we speak
|
| They want others like them to be complete
|
| Arranging the bones
|
| The bones on the moor
|
| Seeds of the doomed
|
| So perfect they are
|
| Below the ground when the sun is high
|
| In solitude I deconstruct my prize
|
| I chew the mangled meat right off the bone
|
| In the darkness down here all alone
|
| Skeletal sockets peering out through the mist
|
| Sun bleached fingers point while the stale winds hiss
|
| Arranging the bones
|
| The bones on the moor
|
| Seeds of the doomed
|
| So perfect they are
|
| I’ve stripped the pieces from their counterparts
|
| Nocturnal placement as a work of art
|
| This place is mine, nobody else comes here
|
| If they do they’ll only disappear |