Blighttown Type Beat

I met a village whose houses were empty
Whose graves were full
Whose hearths were stained by the ashes of burned
Someones or somethings from generations past
I met a village whose houses were empty
Whose graves were full
I met a village whose houses were empty
Whose graves were full

At the base of the hill, the old rotted out husk
Of some wooded giant
Still had a mouth that could beckon for me
The cellar door like a tongue that was salivating
Longing, waiting for a taste
So I stepped past the teeth and slid in
There hasn't been a spirit in this home
Since the last time it flooded
They were so desperate
To let something in
There's a language made of scratches on the walls
That's where they heard the voices
If I listen close enough, oh, I can hear them too
The mold has choked the bones of this place
And its empty is yearning
The fist on the door, it rings in my skull
There's a novel wrote in rope all frayed
And hanging from the rafters
They couldn't stand the voices
And I can hear them too
Listen to the wolves sing
Something is lodged in their throats but they still carry on
Listen to the trees groan
Many have died in their arms, they want to carry no more
Listen to the wolves sing
Something is lodged in their throats, but they still carry on
Listen to the trees groan
Many have died, they can still speak if you
Listen, listen
Something is writhing
Listen, listen
Something is writhing
Listen, listen
Something is writhing
Something is coming
And I have a choice to make
I want to be with the ones
Who have seen someplace better
Tear up the floorboards, build me my gallows
Tear up the floorboards