I run from witches
On narrow bridges
Between frigid ridges
With avalanche glitches
When the weather switches
I’m swept into ditches
Of icy riches
A sorcerer finds me
And binds me
To my snowy grave
Where ice has paved
Over my eternal cave
Underneath frozen waves
A necromancer revives me
As the living dead thriving
On maliciously driving
The innocent to my tomb
Mother Earth’s icy womb
I grab my skeleton broom
And start to make room
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 4:53 PM UTC
I run from witches
On narrow bridges
Between frigid ridges
With avalanche glitches
When the weather switches
I’m swept into ditches
Of icy riches
A sorcerer finds me
And binds me
To my snowy grave
Where ice has paved
Over my eternal cave
Underneath frozen waves
A necromancer revives me
As the living dead thriving
On maliciously driving
The innocent to my tomb
Mother Earth’s icy womb
I grab my skeleton broom
And start to make room
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