Thunder on the Fields

Thunder on the fields
The rats of Paris are grinning
Morbid, twisted smiles in the night
Their teeth and eyes are shining
In the valleys people whisper
Children named the chosen ones
They gather 'round to fear and worship
What they do not understand
Up on the mountain, there’s something
Sinister pressing through
Black wings beating, hoofbeats pounding
A presence deeply terrifies you
In the houses of godheads they declare war on life
Reading through cobwebs
Preaching age-old lies
Down by the river, on a beach of black sand
Lovers have guns stuck in their mouths and are cursing these
Wicked lands
In a whiskey bar there’s ghosts
Throwing dice they’re betting with screams
They drink with us unknowingly and inflict the strangest dreams
There’s an eye in the storm
Where riders draw maps that are broken
Their dogs they have no bones, forever
Caught up in a hurricane
There’s an eye in the storm where riders draw maps that are broken
Their dogs they have no bones, forever caught up in a hurricane
That they have awoken