They run in the rafters.
They knock on the door.
Sometimes with no warning,
they’ll rise through the floor.
They come from all over
to answer your call.
That you didn’t mean to
means nothing at all.
“You owe us a blood debt”
is what they will say.
“We’ll soul-snatch your spirit,
your flesh we will slay.”
They’ll watch from
the fiery corners of hell,
and grant you the wishes
you tossed down the well.
So then, when you see them,
you won’t die of fright.
Just follow them, follow them,
into the night.
Just follow them, all the way,
all through the night.
BlackQuill 