Twisted bones,
Twisted bones,
Arching back,
Shape that bears no baby fat.

Claws that rip,
Fangs that gleam,
Give the shadows wicked dreams.

Wanders forward; halts; stares,
Eyes of yellow, slitted pupils,
Glare.

And out of shadows, rasped voice speaks,
Like whisper given ill wind,
Quizzical voice whom shadows reap
Their ill fated doom on breath what sins.

"What wonders down before mine eyes?
Brings cause to wonder, draws out surprise?
Why, travellers that wander here,
Come from far, come from near.

Pausing only in brief repose,
Tho' brevity still may expose,
Secrets, lies, half truths, unwholes,
And in, the seekers dig like moles.

Stay for more than a moment long?
And thy mind to you will no longer belong.

Take in to context thoughts that splay,
Like my claws, from which blood runs away.

Now run, run little birds, have no fear,
We're all quite mad,
Quite mad, here."

Then slips the beast back into dark,
Leaving words like Ichor black.
Leaving only the trail of bloody claws,
From mishapen, bony paws,
without palsy carry steps away,
And the feline is no more
Seen for wake of day.