The cry at the dead of night,
the air filled with blight,
a young one lie still on his deathbed,
his blood still bleeding red.
It left no trace, and no tracks,
but this foul beast eats the folk like snacks,
our fear dwells in our hearts,
as we say "til' death do us part"
the air filled with blight,
a young one lie still on his deathbed,
his blood still bleeding red.
It left no trace, and no tracks,
but this foul beast eats the folk like snacks,
our fear dwells in our hearts,
as we say "til' death do us part"
