The hands are large and fingers long,
Cowering in fear over his disturbing song.
Taking a journey no solace or splendor,
Running from the one known only as Slender.
His presence seals your fate.
Angel of Death, he is no debate.
The strongest of men whimper and cry.
No god could save you, this is no lie.
The dark coat, no face on the head.
His presence means you're already dead.
For no mere mortal could ever understand:
The feeling within the grasp of Slender Man's hand.