Poor kitty, struck down by fate,
Pixies took pity on poor Miss Jay.
Left flowers to guide her soul to Heaven’s gate,
at crossroads is where her grave lays.
Puddles of black paint drowned the late dove.
She was stained with sin for falling for false love.

She was buried all alone,
just like she was in life.
Nowhere to call her home,
His betrayal was the knife.

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Bowerman knew the witches' performed rituals at Dartmoor.
Everyone at his church warned him about hunting late,
But the proud hunter boasted with great vigour
and listed all his achievements and manly traits.

He shrugged off his good friends' warnings and took his dogs with him.
As fate would have it, the dogs led him straight to the witches' den.
His chances of escaping their clutches wer...

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I do not understand why people still drive here!
How many cars do I have to crash to get some peace?
I think my actions have made my intentions quite clear:
I want all driving near Dartmoor to cease.

I am not a violent spirit, just a pair of hairy hands.
Before all the driving, I only was minding my business,
But I had to intervene before the madness expands.
I will not let them pollute D...

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In times of grief we take up our crosses,

Cry to the Above for strength in our weakness,

lick our wounds and count our losses,
Light candles to chase away the darkness.
Ask for forgiveness and pray for salvation,
Hope for the future, and bury our past.
Maleficers spit out their curses in frustration,
their wicked spells they will cast.
When hardship comes, they wash their woes in shame...

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When technology came to replace tradition,
Science destroyed all superstition.
Proof of evil beings is forgotten,
remembered as myths, and dismissed as fiction.
But I have a suspicion
That the truth is much darker,
that their true nature is harsher,
and they stay hidden and wait.
I fear we fell into their trap and took the bait.
They stole the light and dimmed our dreams.
In their absenc...

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A girl never lost, only waiting to be found.
The scent of her despair attracts the thirsty hounds.
The hands that reach out to lift her off the ground,
Are soft and gentle and barely make a sound.
Her scratchy clothes are replaced by a soft gown.
Life is never too harsh; it always turns around.

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My heart grew legs and ran away.
Now I’m trying to make it stay.
Promising I won’t take it for granted,
Hoping it isn’t disenchanted.
I am afraid I will not get my heart back.

The pedestal I’d place it on is starting to crack.
Maybe I will have to live life without a heart.
I could learn a lesson and become smart.

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