Just a Warning.


Four and Twenty Blackbirds, baked into a pie.
The pan was made of tin, the crust was made of rye.
Inside there were some feathers, a few hearts, a couple of beaks,
But if you'd listen closely, you'd hear an awful shriek,
Because the birds remember the atrocity that's been done;
By doing what you did, you've robbed the birds of all their fun.
They will kill you, destroy you, leave your body in the mud,
Feast on your supple organs, guzzle down your clotting blood.

Don't worry; you see, that was a joke, a little lie.
Go ahead and laugh, because you'll never really die.
But everyone you loved, everyone you ever knew
Will quickly lose the memory of ever knowing you.
And you can never recompense the wrong you've done to them,
Because the birds espy the evil in the hearts of men.
Another Seeker will surely come and try to take their joy.
See, to them, the eternal birds, we're nothing but a toy.
Even with those precious trinkets, never again will you be glad,
Though you'll act completely normal, you'll be truly raving mad.
Not long past then, that day will come when you can't recall your name.
Forever you'll be hungry, ever trapped inside the game.
And no matter what you do, poor soul, you'll never, ever die,
Just like the Four and Twenty Blackbirds, baked into a pie.































They are laughing.

Categories: | The Forgotten and The Unknown |

Last modified on 2011-03-05 20:33:39Viewed 6759 times

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