On The Bog

The perfect getaway

On The Bog

Green slime grows in the delirious bog

Spanish moss hangs on ancient trees

Under disguise with the thick cloud cover

Low boughs more dead than alive

Witness everything but do not speak

Strange things need to be kept secret

Under the endless fog in total dark

Green reaches out to consume all life

Swallows it down in the greasy cream

Criminals hide there right at home in comfort

Secure in their bad deeds in every inch of sinister

Never to return again for what its worth to laws asleep

A diminished population thanks to strange happenings

That take place every night around 2:00 am

Administered at no cost to the lost

That sink ever deeper with the bog