The Hollow Toll of Hell
The Hollow Toll of Hell
Old witch plucked out every hair
To weave her wicked snares.
But a deal demands a spirit pure,
And hers was beyond repair.
She traded a thumb, she traded an eye,
Yet still she paraded on
Seeking the key for the gate, the hidden escape,
Before the rise of dawn.
With nothing left of flesh or bone,
No gold left to toll,
She reached the brink and paid the price:
The sale of her hollow soul.
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