When death came knocking, we were underground,
Hustled and hidden from our pursuers’ sight,
While up above - the most horrible sound:
Screams of agony, high and twisted round,
With strings of ghastly terror pulled too tight.
Oh, that we were spared this horrible sound.
The strings pull tighter, wound and wound,
‘Til all at once they break - oh, silent night.
When death came knocking, we were underground.
We huddle tight and listen as the hounds
Shuffle around, ripe for another fight.
Can there be any more horrible sound?
As the steps draw closer, our hearts pound,
Stuttering, racing, with cold liquid fright.
With death a-knocking, we were underground.
With a shout and leer, we are found,
No good wizard there to witness our plight.
Death is knocking, and we’re underground.
Green light above - and then there’s no sound.