I feel him tugging on my strings, speak of the devil. He’s got rhythm with a beat. He’ll be trouble. I’ve lost the hold of my soul, it’s unbeffiting. My head is pounding, my eyes are hollow ,I’ve got no soul (I’ve lost my soul). It’s up and gone, lock and key. The voodoo man has the best of me. I can’t be free with all this stressing me, (out) overwhelming, unrelenting, unwilling.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Gods help me please I’m on my knee! I’m crying out, that time I thought it out, best believe. I’m trying now to make it out, better pastures to wait it out.

In the town lies many who’ll frown, anger reaching from one side of their lips to the other. There’s a tower up above casting shade when the sun is ever-bright. Later in the night, roiling and crashing are clouds of sleet and snow. Nobody knows where to go and or how to cope, the wizard watches mournfully, because he knows his tricks of trade will not shed some color on these poor blotchy skinned folk.