The creatures are hiding
The forest is dense
Large birds are flying
Nothing makes sense
Nine they are
The number for luck
The way is so far
Are they stuck?
They have a week and a half
To get off the island
To bring the staff
To the beaches of sand
Where one bird flies by
Once a day
Up into the sky
What can they say?
Down to eight, so soon
The home guard is dead
There is no mood
And their hopes feel like lead
The darter has struck
Their leader, their trust
They have run out of luck
To continue they must
Now seven from nine
Do they stand anew?
They will go on fine
Through the swamp, the Inju
The scat and the squeek
Have found her tune
They now have a week
There is still no moon
Down to six
Their hopes are gone
They are in a fine fix
For there is no song
The demons have found them
And five they are
The seer was with them
So they are
Alone with five
And the scat and squeek
Now four are alive
With less then a week
They find him dead
Three now around
It is said
There is no sound
Two are alone
He turns to fight
He lets out a moan
While she starts a light
The bird returns
Flies to land
She has learned
He is her hand
