It come down slow at first
The art of subtlety
As each generation loses sight
Of their humanity

You should have shot the messenger
And avoided this curse
It’s too late to change our fate
Now I fear for the worst
Yeah I fear for the worst

I got a feeling
And time will tell
If we’re fed to the sea
or go straight to hell
If I could I’d wipe that look right off your face
But it’s the kind of look that belongs in this place

They blamed it on leprosy
Incest and blasphemy
Now we’ll curse the skies
While we squirm in our cursed hides

No one left to hear our moans
Ichor tears seep from our pores
We turned a blind eye to the coming storm
Now our eyes will shut
Our eyes will shut no more

Don’t you look at me, don’t you try to speak
We’ll be the same eventually
Til then I’ll bide my time
In the days of Dagon
The days of Dagon by

Thinking of the deepest sea
and shuddering at the the nameless things
Floundering ’til their time is nigh
In the days of Dagon
The days of Dagon by

“The end is near. I hear a noise at the door, as of some immense slippery body lumbering against it. It shall not find me. God, that hand! The window! The window!” – H.P. Lovecraft