"The story, idea, and lyrics are the original work of Lamefroid.'' Copyright © 2026 Lamefroid. All rights reserved. In fog-bound streets where shadows cling, A figure walks, forever old— Black coat, wide brim, no song to sing, A sentinel of silence cold. The town has known him age on age, Through plague and peace, through storm and star, No word escapes his parchment page, No light betrays the things that are. Teeth. Teeth in the walls. Teeth in the spire. Teeth. Grin for the fall. Teeth. They call. They call. They call. Centuries pass like whispered breath, He labors lone when midnight falls, Harvesting quiet, patient death, To raise the walls where madness calls. No hammer rings, no torchlight gleams, Only the click of ivory fit, In crypts that swallow mortal dreams, Where angles twist and never sit. Teeth. Teeth in the walls. Teeth in the spire. Teeth. Grin for the fall. Teeth. They call. They call. They call. Never a glance to the heavens' maw, Never a tremor in folded hands— Yet every night the teeth awaken, Grinding slow in the spire's heart, A chorus of bone on bone, eternal rasp, The church alive with hunger's song, Azathoth's blind laugh in every scrape, Teeth chewing shadows, chewing souls, The veil shreds thin—listen, it grinds, It grinds for you, and never stops. Teeth. Teeth in the walls. Teeth in the spire. Teeth. Grin for the fall. Teeth. They call. They call. They call… …and you answered.
