It's almost night  The clouds are streaked with violet  And the moon is bright  Banish your innocence    There is no breeze  Disquiet lurks in silence  By this place of power  Your sins must escalate    What has come before  And recurs perpetually  Is on it's way  Cherish each atrocity    Woodland dark surroundings  Ill lit by twin beacons  A black car approaches  With two men inside it    With the right temptation  Murder needs to prompting  The man riding shotgun  Has just killed his own son    To nurture the white worms    Still and isolated  The woodframe house stands vacant  Humans that once lived here  Can no longer be found    And yet all are present  Well fed and ghastly white  In the mound of moist earth  That sits just by the road    His rigid features inexpressive  He flings his son's blonde head upon the heap  This last act earns him his metamorphosis  For he who built the house is at the wheel    To nurture the white worms    Darkling souls, though larval  With each sin can mutate  Into something dreadful  Before dawn, you'll pupate  And feed on innocents  Nourished by more like you  To someday haunt the aether  In obscene evolution    The house is hell  With it's windows all agape  Through these come some worms  And they have sprouted wings    Fear is forever, the objective  To goad the rest of humanity  Into acts of pervert nature  And bring out the worm in all of us