I spent all my time dripping knowledge of mine, to mark this meandering path.
Through the tree's, so frought with disease, They crackle a haunting laugh.

Held out through the gloom, my lantern so soon, lost it's comforting glow.
Growing cold in my grip, that now darts for my hip, to ****** the pistol I stole.

It knew the corse language of damnation, and ****** was on its breath.
It spoke in the dark that wouldn't depart, blind striking for blood and death.

Each strobe threw devil's, on multiple levels, their shadowy forms amiss.
Bullets screaming passed trees, where no one sees, the price of the Devils kiss.