The Man Who Knocks on the Door

Stood with his back to the ocean
As the weight of the storm pushes down
Ten years have passed
Since he saw this place last
They said he'd surely drowned

A travesty of bone and torn fragments
And the scraps of the clothes he once wore
And the storm's sacred sound
Marks the night that he drowned
And the night he crawled back to the shore

Crouched in a cave in the cliff face
Mantled in seaweed and sand
He's come to set right
A few scores in the night
With the impunity of the damned

He's gonna creep out after midnight
He's gonna knock on some doors
And you'd better pray
If you've wronged him some way
That he doesn't knock on yours

He's the figure in the mirror
He's the creaking under the floor
He's the cold living dead
Lying in wait 'neath the bed
He's the man who knocks on the door

And I tell you in all sincerity
Though you may choose not to believe
That, of those who were slain
Not a whisker remained
Just a trail leading back to the sea