Blighttown Type Beat

I met a village whose houses were empty Whose graves were full Whose hearths were stained by the ashes of burned Someones or somethings from generations past I met a village whose houses were empty Whose graves were full I met a village whose houses were empty Whose graves were full At the base of the hill, the old rotted out husk Of some wooded giant Still had a mouth that could beckon for me The cellar door like a tongue that was salivating Longing, waiting for a taste So I stepped past the teeth and slid in There hasn't been a spirit in this home Since the last time it flooded They were so desperate To let something in There's a language made of scratches on the walls That's where they heard the voices If I listen close enough, oh, I can hear them too The mold has choked the bones of this place And its empty is yearning The fist on the door, it rings in my skull There's a novel wrote in rope all frayed And hanging from the rafters They couldn't stand the voices And I can hear them too Listen to the wolves sing Something is lodged in their throats but they still carry on Listen to the trees groan Many have died in their arms, they want to carry no more Listen to the wolves sing Something is lodged in their throats, but they still carry on Listen to the trees groan Many have died, they can still speak if you Listen, listen Something is writhing Listen, listen Something is writhing Listen, listen Something is writhing Something is coming And I have a choice to make I want to be with the ones Who have seen someplace better Tear up the floorboards, build me my gallows Tear up the floorboards