Wednesday, November 26, 2008


I wish to write a story

But the characters have run away

The child has drowned in a pool of guilt

And the men are out to play

The boys, they try. And try again.

But they keep falling

For there is no light to guide the way

And the wicked witch is calling

She dances along the empty streets

Rousing many a sleeper from his bed

And they follow her down the old mountain road

Through the path of the dead

Oh and dead she is, has always been

And soon they will be too

And all the noise you hear at night

Is the waking of her immortal crew…

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