Every night I wake up under the same crooked tree Deep in the rural woods with no recollection of how I got there And every night, oh what a sight there is to see At least five gutted bodies hanging from the twisted branches dripping blood onto the icy grass Throats slit, eyes gouged, victims of all ages mangled and disembodied under the same crooked tree I wonder who murdered these poor souls Blood stains my clothes, fingers, mattes in my blonde hair, was it me? These strange occurrences happen nightly leaving me in a cold sweat saturated with bodily fluids Every night I wake up under the same crooked tree