Skies bleed above and drip into oceans of tar below.
Horizons mixed with absynthe and oil bend the twilight into a darkened glow.
Wolves can't breathe in these deadly hallows.
We wolves can't breathe in these deadly hallows.
A spiral staircase leads into my maw and I devour what I am, what I was.
What I was is a razor in the mouths of the pack.
Until night comes, we will choke on blood and bone.
Choke on.
Breathing in the nighfall, the bleeding of the heavens clot.
In the hallows it pools and we die for you.
As wolves we die for our freedom.
We dine for the razors.
And we die for you.