The cold moon rose on a starry night,
The wind blew strong and sure,
Creaked the door open, a prey tonight,
Ventured unknowingly: a curse or cure?
The house elated, but so was the child,
Inside the house, where a small tree grew,
The child slept, the house kept away the wild,
Happy inside was the prey, but happiness is few.
When morning came, red he saw,
The bones and skulls scattered around,
The house despaired and unsheathed its claw,
Keeping the child from being found.
Nightmares struck the little child,
Inside the house, where a small tree grew.
All the furnishings looked wild,
The child would die, the house knew.
But the child held strong and brave,
From the little tree, little fruits he ate.
Friends of his became the open grave,
He was scared but he accepted this fate.
Jack, Jim and John, he called the skulls,
The windows were Tom, Tim and Harry.
Longing, he was longing for someone whom society culls,
Loneliness was a burden to carry.
The child grew and the child knew,
He could feel the sadness there,
But one day, the darkness flew,
There were others quite near.
But the child did not call for help,
Cheerfully, he went to the door,
The door opened, "Welcome!", he yelped,
All the bones went under the floor.
Two strangers walked in,
The little child, a gracious host.
Little did they know, they were locked in,
Until the sun to the darkness was lost.
Night crept in and so did cold,
Hunger and fatigue took over
As soon as they slept, the two men bold,
The child said, "game over".
