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