I fear things hiding in the mist.
I could have sworn that something hissed.
Another time I heard it'd roared
Or even spoken human word.
Its shape is vague and changing still.
A glimpse would make you write last will.
No living soul knows size of beast
That has been hiding in the mist.
One would be fool then to beseech
Things for the best left out of reach.
And yet for reasons I may missed
I'm drawn to wander in the mist.
To give myself, complete and whole
To things unnamed, to things most foul.
For thats the only way there is
To know whats hiding in the mist.