There are ghosts in the attic.
There are ghosts in the walls.
There are ghosts in the cellar.
And they're calling me home.

Ghosts are haunting my body,
cutting open my lungs.
Liquid's spilling out on the pavement.
Worms arise to eat my bones.
Phantom gods cry out for more,
but I have given them my last drop.
Nothing will satisfy the hearts of man.
Especially not those who become gods.
Wanting, craving, needing, weeping.
Desire encompasses their every thought.
They will fall back to the earth.
And what will become of us when they're gone?
When they're gone.

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