Whispers echo down the mine-shaft,
I imagine witches and their craft.
The darkness plays tricks on my mind,
My skin goosebumps like its on ice.

Further in, shadows play their tricks,
My wind up torch starts to flick.
Paranoia sets my pulse pounding
as I imagine long finger nails scraping.

It goes dark for the minute I start winding
and all around me, the heavy breathing,
laughs bellowing through rocky surfaces.
Intentions that are ****** murderous.

All I can think of, those dear to be lost to me.