As I walk into these dark woods,
I notice that there is no light,
But these eyes arent afraid of fright,
Not afraid not even a slight,
These woods made of menacing trees,
Made of baleful threatening leaves,
Displays warning to all who sees,
Few pass through this is true indeed,
Fewer escape with scars to bleed,
My journey through these woods called life,
A path who knows which shows less strife,
At the end we all share alike,
Surviving grants no gift to me,
One who lives is the rarest thing,
To learn from my friend misery,
On that day ill truly be free,