smashed into a pulp on the pavement
guts strewn on a white hot day
now every night as he floods your conscience
you try to find a way
so follow me to the back of the graveyard
to false hope where the forest bleeds
and every night when you beg for the blackout
recite hippocratic blasphemy
ascent in the night time
there’s death in the wind
descent of the dead son
now you've let him in
you could never dig that grave back up again
heaping all the blood and skeletons
you could never dig that grave back up again
even if you hadn't sinned
give me the boy, I'll do it then
carving into your flesh with his own hands
does he look just like he did?
now he shrieks like a fiend in the bloodbath
well you've found a way
taken in by your own evasions
is he all that you wanted and more?
these killings run through your own hands
and he's learned to slay
ascent in the night time
there’s death in the wind
descent of the dead son
now you've let him in
you could never dig that grave back up again
heaping all the blood and skeletons
you could never dig that grave back up again
even if you hadn't sinned
give me the boy, I'll do it then
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