• Walking through these woods
    Whispers of your name call through the trees
    Looking all around
    Nothing but trees is all you see.

    The voices call out again
    This time they yell out,"Help me."
    Shrieks of little girls can be heard
    Then shrieks of little men.

    As mourning peeks through the trees
    The voices begin to stop
    The shrieks begin to soften
    And you begin to run free.