On ember isle, just west of here,
there lay the jagged men.
They’ve slumbered for two thousand years,
but still they don’t forget.
Their eyes are closed, but not their ears,
pray they don’t wake again.
They dream about my deepest fears,
and whisper of our sin.
If you go there, tread carefully -
their veil of sleep grows thin.
Your tale was fate, it’s meant to be,
we’ll tell your next of kin.
If whispers stop, it’s best to flee,
but much to your chagrin;
they’d hunt us all relentlessly-
Did someone just walk in?