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lyrics

This place is on the wrong side of the hill
and it gets dark so early, if it ever gets light.
The day is mild, and home is in sight,
but I could die of exposure if
I really put my mind to it.
I came here on feet of my own,
unbent by man or spirit,
and when I get back alive
I alone will take the credit.

Just five more minutes and I will turn around.
Just ten more minutes and I will turn around.
But there's no need for me to turn around.
Look, no one needs me to turn around.
Trap doors, trap doors, trap hallways, trap floors.
Trap doors, trap doors, trap valleys, trap tors.

I wandered down this perilous path unaware of the peril.
I wandered down this perilous path unaware of the peril, or the path.
I wandered down this perilous path unaware of myself or the peril or the path.

I'll build a fire in the abandoned hive,
amongst the ghosts of those that came before.
And in the play of my shadow on their lines
my mind will be made like their minds.
And in this way I will see the beauty of their lives,
I will see the night that came to end their work,
and then I'll know what I now just suspect:
that this place we have come to
is the same as what we left.

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Erich Zann / The Shrander Seattle, Washington

"His blue eyes were bulging, glassy, and sightless, and the frantic playing had become a blind, mechanical, unrecognisable orgy that no pen could even suggest." — H.P. Lovecraft, The Music of Erich Zann

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