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