Some old press clippings, my uncle's notes, a bas-relief made out of clay.
The horrors that these convey have given me much dismay.
I think I'm starting to go insane.
Strange nightmare images haunt my brain.
I'm dreaming of a dead city
Where Deep Ones swim in depths of night.
Where Cthulhu's sleeping while stars go creeping
Until the time they are right.
I'm dreaming of a dead city
With angles Euclid wouldn't know,
That was build strange eons ago, and will soon come up from down below.
I'm dreaming of a dead city
Where Deep Ones swim in depths of night.
Where Cthulhu's sleeping while stars go creeping
Until the time they are right.
I'm dreaming of a dark future
Ruled by the Three-Lobed Burning Eye;
When the Old Ones' coming in night, and you find that even death itself may die.
A strong comment here is specific: the phrase you keep hearing, the mood you come back for, or the reason this song stays in rotation.
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