Texty: Obituary. Back From The Dead. 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