Feed on the Weak - Obituary

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