Lebanon Hanover Dark Hill
Through the decadent streets
Some delicate fiends, float
From the shadows to the street light
Some faces of pale, unveil
So silent and still
I grab your scarlet hands
And i take you, and hold you
Hard;
We reach the top of this dark, dark hill
And my heart rattles
Against my ribs
A misty path with frowning trees
Whispering
They poke from view
Of an icy moon
And talks protrude
Of doom and gloom
