Heading up the mountain in the drizzling black
Weary from the distance but there's no turning back
They need a place to rest

Hiding in a musty cave from the raging tempest...
They wait for the sleep to fill their eyes...
The 'ritual death' will seal their fate

Sleep tight...

No sense in anxiety 'til the moment is at hand

Some walls have eyes, all the better to see you with
Some walls have hands, all the better to grab you with

We've caught you off guard, too tired to know and too 
tired to care
Welcome to our house... welcome to our lair...