The Screaming ForestThe Screaming ForestThe bleached white bones of the broken treesPiles of the dead, cold without leavesThis is the place of DeathSilence as the wind holds back its screaming breathNothing comes near, No mice, no deerNo-one comes closeFor the fear of the ghostsGhosts of the forestThe ghosts of the forests that lost their friendsThe raging destruction that never endsOn and on Death walks.He walks with loud and heavy strideNo longer cowled, nor carrying scytheBut garish with his weapons screechingCareless for the life hes leechingWhy should he care?Why should he care when he cant hear the criesThe