It was a lovely place, why would you think otherwise?
A little spot of sunshine, where all was nice and bright
See the ancient crimson earth, tilled by villagers when they rise
Smiles and warmest greetings here and there all day and night
"Look, mister, over there, do you see the children play?"
Cheeriest little souls, you said, so graceful when they run
"Yes, of course I do," you heard a voice clear as the day
Strange bunch, these country folks, but who are you to ruin their fun?
And there, just by the woods, do you see the gleaming lake?
Dark and calm in wait, watching the day goes from afar
Stay off the water, they said, for it always longs to take
All things made by man that the wind has yet to mar
Farms, inns and beaten tracks, these give rise to strangest tales
But why should it matter? It still is lovely when they greet
At times bit too strange, too mechanical and pale
Yet when the shadows creep, who else would you rather meet?
Would've been nice, of course, if they’d just refrained
From snatching you, sleeping well in bed
And dragging you as the black skies rained
To that lake of ink now in your head.