Текст песни
It does not come on winds that blow
It has no haste, it has no hurry
A silent, patient, creeping flow
To drown your world and make you worry
It bleeds beneath your bolted door
A tendril first, and then it pours
A tidal breath upon the floor
That whispers what your soul abhors
The Crawling Fog is here
It has no face, no mind, no name
It feeds on every secret fear
And loves to play its wicked game
The Crawling Fog is real
It drinks the light and kills the sound
And in its belly, you will feel
That you were always lost and found
The streetlights die as it draws near
Not with a spark, but with a sigh
It smothers every sound of fear
The final, fading, human cry
You'll feel its cold and clammy touch
It doesn't choke, it doesn't clutch
It simply asks for far too much
And leaves you numb, and out of touch
The Crawling Fog is here
It has no face, no mind, no name
It feeds on every secret fear
And loves to play its wicked game
The Crawling Fog is real
It drinks the light and kills the sound
And in its belly, you will feel
That you were always lost and found
There are no shapes of beast or man
No claw to tear, no tooth to bite
Just the slow, sure, gentle plan
To swallow day and eternalize the night
Your memories begin to blur and run
Your past becomes a borrowed one
Your struggle? A forgotten fun
Beneath a cold and starless sun
The Crawling Fog is HERE!
It has my face, my mind, my name!
It's made of every secret fear!
I AM its wicked, final game!
The Crawling Fog is ME!
It drank my light and killed my sound!
And in its belly, I can see...
That I was always... crawling... down...
The horn... again...
So far...