Enter forest green and black
wherein treetops shade pathways leading back
the wind malevolent grins with mirthful eyes
a playful ill-will as cats before their mice.

It is not the fear of bitter cold
nor of darkness stories old
it is something moving in these aged trees
that brings shivers down to-- What trav'lers these?

Who walk with downcast eyes below the hidden sky
and bowing step forth unto demise.

When moon does show it's drowsy eye
and once red is blue as the night
what lurks between boughs of green and gold
has blackened heart from lies once told
saunters 'fore the wooden place
where young men end their race.

What trav'lers these who call before the fight
They- with no weapon- shout with might
To live and die in mighty storm
and one day take on heaven's form

The feared one raises head and claws
perching soundless to cause their painful fall
"Let me hear your ending call, that god or devil
may not forsake you all."

"We have no gods nor demons, no angels nor devils for us to call
for we are men of faithless earthly hall
who come to bear the earthly yoke
of life short lived and death's unrighteous stroke;"

"we walk to death and nothing after
as is custom of those with little faith
hear our cry oh merciful wraith
that we might pass under your yellow eye
as those who live and ask nought but time from life
that we may eat and drink our fill of what might be had
and drunken die before mad-ness take
and for other lives and worlds we save our fate
and we praise heavens and gods contrived in faithful tirade!"

Scrutinizing these travelers with delicate stare
the wraith had never seen such men that would enter the forest lair
With a laugh he let them pass
gods be with them and send them fast.

This last humor bore them along
to lands and drinks where their song is still sung
and the lives they lived were none too long.