(Marcus N. Colon)
Disposed of
Without a trace
The young maiden's dismembered cadaver
Receives her grave
No stone to mark
Where she lay
To what avail
Such a waste
Grim empty souls store her life
For satanic haste
A brutal crime
Satan receives his offering
In the Forest of Horrors
Oh where could
Our girl have gone?
A father cries in prayer
Their desperate hearts
Search eagerly
But hope is fading dim
Fabled stories can be told
But who will know of its realities?
Fabled stories can be told
Can we overrule the possibilities?
Fabled stories can be told
But who will know of its realities?
Fabled stories can be told
Can we overrule the possibilities?
Overwhelming, taunting, torment
Stirs a trouble minded man
"How can I not give the truth
Of the things I've done and seen?!
I must tell, I must tell, I must tell!"
His return
To the scene
Of many ritual crimes
Bringing in
The authorities
To uncover the hideous finds
But no bodies
What? No proof
They find to his dismay
"But the stories
That I've told you
Have happened as I say!"