Don’t go near the F Ward halls,
That’s where children fade.
Gowns like rags and hollow screams-
The bread must still be paid
Corn dolls rise with stitched-up eyes,
To guard you through the night.
But drop your blade or speak their name-
The Screamers snatch your light.
They’ll cradle you with broken arms,
And hum a lullaby.
But if you cry or try to run-
You’ll scream like them before you die.