It came up from the wetlands, under Waverly Hill

It came, quiet and crazy, then it stood perfectly still

It stunk of the tunnel, it stunk of dying too young

It had ash on it's eyelids and it had snow in it's lungs

And the evening came running, like a slave at it's beck and call



It's girls hide in letters, and they play in it's halls

It's boys sleep in garbage, and they come when they're called

It, cringing, comes at you it's teeth chattering in time

It cracks at it's sternum, and it's light of it's mind

It whispers and worries, as the vandals on watch unwind



It fell at Wood-haven, and lay splintered and cold

On a heavy foundation, sinking into the soil

It stinks of the tunnel, and it's casts are undone

It's got ash on it's eyelids, it's got blood on it's tongue

So in a bed of old rafters it takes the wind to it's lungs and howls'