Its chimes like a lullaby, one
Ancient, cursed. In the soothing
Moments the horror sings out.

Never is it wound up, the lid
Opens a jar, a sensation of
Serenity, to those allured  
By its corrupted song.

Old wood opens as a blackened figure
A wisp of old reaches forth. The music
Plays, soothing on the sense, but all
Is about to change.

Each note lunges in the mind, each
Corroded note, changes thoughts
Of kind, serenity is morphed into
This altered state of mind .

It doesn't matter child, woman
Man, all who hear this ancient
Lullaby cursed upon man and soul.

Object in hand, nothing else is  
Heard only that the music is
Everything, it whispers on Skin,
Bone and mind.

Each drop of blood is a note,
Each scream is but chorus in
This Lullaby of death. It
Gently fills the air with its
Soothing intentions.

The lullaby will never end, the
Figure a wisp upon a stand,
Bows to the audience of blood,
And slowly closes its lullaby of
Death. It has once again sang its
Song, and all is silence once more.