Whatever Deep

  There's a hut at the edge of town , the doors are wicked ,old n dark brown  The isolation rules the sun , the dark is on the run  He is old nd weak just from a week  Spells upon the cursed land ,he is in need of some stranger's hand  By far the efforts go in vain ,all the people are insane  waiting for the sun to come through the creaky glass window ,he sit serenly with a barrel of rum  He has seen  He has seen things , wicked tormant things  He knows the plans nd whatever stands and whatever shatters ,He knows them all That is a desperate land he is a lifeless man melancholic and sad joyous and mad  he is a living dead  He is a killer killer of his dreams , the aspirations the fantasies he made the efforts were never paid  He woke up , walked down the stairs with a bewildered head headed to the room  The room of the dead The roses upon bed fall like the rain from heavens he stood there for a minute nd then he walked on ...