The Balking Mire of Fanghandrath

The Balking Mire of Fanghandrath ‘Twas late when the misted veils Suck and drew ‘pon the reeking fetters of claxon screams Wailing echoed dismal to Too late for lantern to pick a path In the trickster passages Of the boggish marsh The Balking Mires of Fanghandrath Where ‘oer the shake-ed sheaves domain The Shadow Hunter was know to claim The souls of less fortune given men Or the eyes of the innocent Aye ! They told the story well Should the hunter of shadows ‘pon your path befall would devour all in The Balking Mires of Fanghandrath But needs must some they need To prove their bravery Of foolish men never seen again Returning from the trickster paths of Fanghandrath Of one such a man who’s courage by beer Was made stalwart young and without fear Through the haunted waste he dared to travel When the misted veils suck and drew Not yet half way there before the chill ate his bones And from the rear the rushing fear Did The Shadow Hunter draw ‘pon his heart In noisome fog the Rake appeared Too far to hear the sounds of screams Too lost in the mazes of dead beaten reeds To mouth-less to utter a prayer And beseech the fate of balking mires No wind it was the laugh, the laugh of Fanghandrath The hunger of its desolate seed To feed ‘pon the soul Of innocent and less fortune given men ‘Twas not till dawn when he reached the rim Ashen grey his youth had gone And no shadow did he cast in morning sun No shadows fall on The Balking Mires of Fanghandrath