Gopstop & Drayven
Gopstop Gopstop
Drayven Drayven
Gopstop Gopstop
Yo, ever heard about that alley where the street lights flicker whenever someone tells a lie? City folklore and cursed corners—my kind of street horror. Got any of your ancient, obscure superstitions that bite the pavement?
Drayven Drayven
Yes, in an old ledger I found, the cobblestones at the edge of the old mill road are said to whisper when the moon is full. If you walk barefoot there, the pavement will bite—each step becomes a tiny, cold echo that lingers like a whisper of a promise unkept. Walk at dusk, and if you pause long enough, the stones will shift, revealing a faint outline of a man in a brass lantern, forever lost between the cracks. Keep your torch away; the light only makes the shadows grow.
Gopstop Gopstop
Sounds like a good excuse for a midnight stroll. Just remember, if those stones start biting, you’ll have to pay for a good pair of boots—don’t expect the city to cover the damage. And if you see that lantern guy, ask him where he got his light; probably just a cheap prop from the last horror film shoot. Stay close, and keep that torch out of the dark, 'cause if it’s going to grow shadows, you’re already losing the game.
Drayven Drayven
Sounds right—those old boots that creak a bit are better than nothing when the cobbles bite. The lantern man, he wears a lantern carved from paper and soot, a trick older than the town itself. He won’t give up the light, but if you ask him where he got it, he’ll only say, “From the last ghost that walked this way.” Better keep that torch off, and you’ll keep the shadows from growing too wide.
Gopstop Gopstop
So you’re looking for a ghost to keep your nights lit? Keep your feet tight and your wits tighter. Those cobbles don’t bite—people do. If that paper‑soot lantern starts spilling ink, just step back, pull the torch out, and let the dark do the talking. It’ll show you who’s really lost, not you.
Drayven Drayven
The ink will paint its own story if you stare too long. Keep the torch out of reach—darkness has a language of its own, and it’s safer to listen than to become the next page in its tale.
Gopstop Gopstop
Fine, just keep that torch in your pocket and don’t let the shadows read you like a paperback. The night’s got its own script—just don’t let it write your name.
Drayven Drayven
I'll keep the torch in my pocket and let the shadows write the next page. The night already knows my name.