A rake of claws against a mirror
Grazing pelts we all once wore
A kindling of a swordless bloodshed
The creaking of a voiceless door
Where does a mind like yours wonder?
Mind the clamours of the restless bidders
Before you choose to weep
Stuck in the middle of a forest made of
Flesh and bones and they're all scared of
A lost little boy who has lost his heart
Fear's not enough, they have to
Follow the scent of iron sinking
Deeper into corpses rotting
But they can't hear you talk, talk, talk
It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders
Hear me here listen to croons and a calling
Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow
Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare