Little does he know how lost and he is.
Wandering blind in the woods, shall we
sing a little lullaby.
A song that lures the self to sleep, make
you even easier prey, you little sheep.
How about Mary Had A Little Lamb?
It'll chill you heart, bore you to the bone.
It'll give you rest then you'll sleep, it'll
make you better prey for you're lost in the woods.
Thought you'll never know it, you'll never suspect,
your head held high, your nose stuck in the air.
Come little sheep, the world's full of deceit,
but that you'll never know you're too stupid
though you think you're bold.
You're so deluded and lost,
you're a pawn in the grander scheme of things,
yet you think that you're the player.
For you, I feel pity, for you does my sorrow flow,
but for the mere thought that your pitiful existence
is tolerated, that you manage to waltz with such a
haughty step, all that emotion is replaced by anger;
a desire to see you burn.
Your miserable existence, would be of no consequence
to anyone either; My Little Red Riding Hood.
Come, the wolf awaits at the other end of the forest,
after surviving its perils, you still have to face up
to the wolf that's devoured your grandmother.
It'll be soon.
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