There's a second wind coming as we lie here in our bed It rattles the bones of our fathers Carries whispers from the dead You turn the telly on to drown out your fear And make the bed up silent on the floor so no-one will hear us You try so loud to love me but I cannot seem to hear My skin peels off like paint Beneath all of our panting there's this noise I cannot shake Can't you hear that scratching? There's something at the door The wind has picked us up now We're hanging in the air You grip me like an animal that you're about to spear 'Be good to me' I whisper Can't you hear it? It can hear you Throw the plate at the wall I'm the paper cut that kills you I'm the priest that you ignored I'm the touch you crave I'm the plans that you made but fuck all your plans I'm bored Can't you hear that scratching I ask your eyes I've got knuckle burn from typing all these lines into your chest The door below it splinters The creature creeps inside We fall into each other The scratching grows so loud That unwanted animal wants nothing more than to get out You rip my ribcage open and devour what's truly yours Our screaming joins in unison I cry out to the lord If we join our hands in prayer enough to Go I imagine it all starts to sound like applause Those plates they smash like waves That second wind is coming love it's coming for all we own On the creature scratches it doesn't know how to get out I wink but you don't get the joke Be good to me I beg of him 'No no not I'