Ocean Tomb (instrumental)

Boiling in a sea with five thousand teeth surrounding me.
A spear from the depths soars through the tide
like a dying breed of reptiles. The spear pierces the serpant
like a predator with little effort. Arms spring forth, arms in
numbers not yet defined by mankind. The art of star born
misery is one of a kind. Eye to eye, a left over breath
would be a disaster. The beast roars, letting loose a
sonic wave of terror.