When They Come

When the wind blows, you hear it coming, they are coming

and everyone knows.

Their big claws tear through the town, sounds of misery, like the death crown.

They spare no one, not a single soul, except the one 

who feeds them coal.

It's his fault, that they have come, his fault, his fault alone.

Their tiny feet, white as snow, really, really, begin 

to glow. 

That is when everyone knows, that they are hungry,

for some coal.

No, not only coal, the souls, they eat.

But not the ginger, no, not him,

for he has not, a single soul, not one, not two, not three, not four.

he has not a soul, has not one, no more.

Their eyes pierce through living and dead, it fills our heads

with such dread. 

And when they leave, we are satisfied

that we survived, we are gratified. 

No living soul, has seen the unnamable, for if he did, his eyes would suffer,

the most terrible punishment, most unbarable thing, 

for if he did, he would not want to see, 

the light of day, as if it were a ghost, haunting his past, his future,

so good bye, unnamable, good bye

ginger.