Obituary
Feed on the Weak
Spirits call, spirits rise
Desolate sky, spirits die!

Haunting for the silence
As the sickness falls within
You've got your strays
The mice are killed
It stems between the sick

Spirits call, spirits rise
Desolate sky, spirits die!

Haunting for behind them
Finds us meaning on the way
The words fill, the chapters come
It dissipates, it stays

Spirits call, spirits rise
Desolate skies, spirits die!
Falling hard, arriving fear
Feeding on the weakest core