In these woods, as a pack of wolves howls tonight,
I seek solace amidst the gray shadows of my fright.
The shrieks of spooky witches hovering around my mind,
slowly stabbing me with the evils I left behind.
Driving through the pangs of this resilient silence,
fighting through the vices of my smooth conscience,
I realize that,
the deadliest weapons don't always belong to the one who laughs last.
Sometimes, they only encompass jinxed words and condemned memories from the past.
The painfully suffocated screams of spirits buried in mud.
When i look at my hands, they reek of innocent blood.
Sinful and sorry, I join my hands in shame,
crying to myself, seeking for an end to this game.
But if only could digging graves bring them all back to life,
I would burrow them out and retract my acts, put an end to my strife.
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