Up on the hill,

The opposite of still,

Stands a mansion so grand,

A high respect,it demands.

A bear,dyed a rich blue,

Smiling,waves down to you!

But,creeping up behind,

It’s easy to find

The ashy grey fearsome hunter,

Letting out screams like thunder,

Threats of death,malice

And a call of the king of the palace.

Coy is he,the ruler of death.

Yelling to you,’You are of no threat.’

‘Pass through the palace of madness,

Through turmoil and sadness.’

He smiles.

It’s away from human,many miles.

‘Welcome’,he beams.

‘We’ll rip you apart at the seams.’