Go home, little one.
You're still too young to comprehend.
Don't look at the danger that skirts every dream.
But you won't listen, will you?
You've far too much that need be done.
Growing up should be your main concern.
Yet past warriors call you to take up their plight,
That their sacrifice not be in vain.
There's still a war yet to be won,
You wake with a name on your lips like a prayer,
"Freddy Krueger", and a shiver down your spine.
You've no idea what's to come.
These battles are nothing to you
Virgin fighter; virgin sacrifice.
Nothing learned in textbooks will help you pass this test.
Mommy can't help you now.
His bladed weapons are honed by years
of workouts in the boiler room.
Pain, fear, and blood in an orgasmic rush
That's how his power grows.
Of sucking the lifeforce of the child wracked by fears,
He's a Master of the game.
Creating terror like stepping stones he makes his path
To the heart of you; then cuts it away
His high, like wine, stems from the flow of their tears,
Friends linked together by a fear so divine.
A vintage red and fine to run through the halls
Of the boiler room where he plays.
The screams of the dead are forever.
They scream through the night; the wail of the damned.
You can't set them free, little girl, there's much you don't know.
You're still not ready to play his game.
Go home, little one.
You've far too much that need be done.
There's still a war yet to be won,
These battles are nothing to you.
His bladed weapons are honed by years
Of sucking the lifeforce of the child wracked by fears.
His high, like wine, stems from the flow of their tears.
The screams of the dead are forever.
