Wilbur: Necronomicon

I must find the tome
Must find the tome, the pages I seek
I must run, must run, must run

Oh but when I look back from the torn fields
The homestead doesn't look so bad now
My blistered loins be damned
These cursed bones flourish evermore

I must find the tome
The mania of my father
To undo this foulness, this foulness
My brother, he the horror, 'hieronymus'
Will break his earthly chains
As does his, my own flesh shifts and ruptures
We must stop this, stop this we must
For we are surely doomed
If not for this last and faintest hope

The hour is late, but the locus is found
The miskatonic: it goes by this hallowed name
An entrance I must secure
Lest I've stooped to fall
To be ripped, be torn, discarded
As we all, in all time