lyrics
Clocks craft of dead stone
Hang upon his walls
His cut and rigid hands are still
Bound to immortality
By the wood surrounding
He lives a solitary life among the oak
With wooden masks
He dances in a crimson cloak
Calling to the fearful
Calling to the unliving
Bearing that hideous strength
And when no leaves fall
And when the sun is black
His clocks, craft of dead stone,
Never cease.
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