Shouldering arms, letting things go
arms alas are trying to row
far away from days gone by
never wanting to see the sky
A smile, tear or whisper near
afraid of ghosts at each turn
alas no turn in this tunnel appears
to run into enemies unknown.
Caught instead in the crack of walls
waiting for spiders – the last call
whether up or down I go
without incident shall I ne’er know?
dementors wait in laughters chill
smiles that make souls shrivel!
where to go, what to do?
spiders everywhere, I am doomed.