Poem
When the mist is green like moss,
Turning thicker than a sauce,
Over yonder shines a light,
Leading lost souls from their plight,
But follow naught in the gloom,
For that path will lead to doom,
Fear his name if you are wise,
And listen naught to his lies,
This Will Oâ Wisp knows the way,
He will guide the young astray,
Then heâll eat their eyes on toast,
And use their body for a roast,
And from their skin heâll make a coat,
Fear his name!
JackâOâSkins!
JackâOâSkins!
â Damas Muella
