Dripping drops, dripping drops,
a puddle here and there,
crimson and fading to black,
the pinestraw congealing.

The shadowed form stares,
back down the tunneled trees,
a torturous silhouette standing,
moonlight shines, but cannot identify.

A demon loose in the pines,
branching out to barren land,
but returning to his lair,
leaving a luring trail.

Do not follow the dripping drops,
smeared here and there,
if you do, your bones too,
will reside upon the pile.