Cult of Dagon holds its blackest of rites
Under cover of the darkest of nights
Slowly creep to shore by way Devil's Reef
To find new flesh in which to sink jagged teeth

They come to shore to lurk the streets while you sleep
No quarter given when the time comes to reap
So find a god and pray your soul that they keep
They drag you down into the darkest of deeps

Old refinery crafting from phantom gold
Captain Marsh's stores saved from days of old
No out of town blood enters Innsmouth these days
For few can spare the sum the old ones want paid

Strangers’ faces growing softer at night
Dead eyes infecting with their poison blight
They tell of skin that's loose and scaly and pale
Stay safe in Arkham if you know of the tale

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