Come with me, my dear lost traveller. Why, you poor thing. Wandering alone, nearly sobbing in desperation, moss in your hair, cursing as you tramp through the murk. Well, I shall take pity on you, you poor man.
Follow my swamp-lights into the bog. They shan't hurt you, I promise. That's it- come closer, do not fear. We'll guide you. You are safe now, even safer than you were when your were inside your mother's womb.
Let the muck caress you. It won't harm you. Relax, lost traveller. I've got you, now. The muck is almost like a blanket, is it not? Relax.
Let the muck drown you. But do not worry, it doesn't end here. I shall enjoy hearing you scream, your face muddied and twisted in terror. Stop flailing, traveller, if you really are so keen on keeping your life. You'll just drown even quicker if you keep thrashing around.
Let your screams echo through the swamp. They are music to me. You scream out your life, screaming out worthless names. No doubt your fellow travellers. Mostly likely, I've already claimed them. Keep screaming, lost traveller. Your friends shall be with you soon.
Let my swamp-lights illuminate your death. Aren't they beautiful? You look up at them, wide-eyed, your screams muffled by the swamp muck in your mouth. Your eyes are going glassy now. You are frozen where you are, staring up at my lovely swamp lights.
You scream, bringing your head out of the bog for one last breath. It is a valiant attempt to live, but such a fruitless one. I laugh.
Then you fall, both literally and metaphorically, your body crashing back into the swamp, eyes wide open and frozen before you disappear under the muck.
And then I see something approaching- another traveller? Ah, yes, come here. These lights remind you of home, do they not? Come here- come home.
Come with me, my dear.