I dipped my quill into the blackest of inks,
But when the quill touched the paper,
The words were as red as blood and redder,
And my scream of terror was never heard.
I dipped my quill into the blackest of inks,
The ink was black as midnight and blacker,
But when the words found the paper,
They were red as the setting sun.
I threw my quill away forever,
But the quill returned again,
I vowed never to write anymore,
I swore to God then broke my vow.
The quill taunted me, telling lies,
Even now it taunts me still,
So I write when it tells me to,
Blood still flows from the quill.
Do not venture into the hidden room,
The dark place where the book is,
That first book the quill wrote,
The quill used my hand and wrote with it.
Do not, do not seek the book,
The book of evil and of shadows,
Do not read the book of evil,
Do not read the book of blood.
I dipped my quill into the of blackest inks,
I dipped my quill into a pit of despair,
I dipped my quill into a shadowy divide,
I dipped my quill into my soul.
(Copyright (©) 2007. All rights reserved)
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