The violets, the wheat, the irises, the rye,
All sway in the wind that passes by.
And I stand there on a lonely path,
Bound to go through the wild grass.

The moths and butterflies dance in the air,
Low hanging branches brush my hair.
The thorns scratch and claw at my feet,
The flowers bend away in retreat.

All of nature is quiet and still,
But a single breeze brings an eerie chill
To the scenery that is within this place,
To which the demons will replace.

And I stand alone on this hell bound path,
Heading towards the demonic wrath.
Of sins so evil they shall not be said,
A place some love; a place some dread.

I am drawn to this place where demons live,
A place where all sins God does forgive
Or so the creatures of this place believe,
Also where they think the will be free.

But never will the demons be free,
For only the wild is free as can be.