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FogThe Fog is rolling in again, my dear,
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Such a sharp one too.
Over the hills and under the trees,
Swallowing the land.
Tall trees are just silhouette-bones,
And the ancient sheep just fade away.
Over the hills- still rolling in-
It's eating everything.
It's beautiful, in a strange way,
But I can't help but feel like something's wrong-
Something makes me feel...?
Look at it coming in, stopping not once-
It won't halt for anyone, or anything.
The fells are gone now,
The Mist has claimed them all,
And the Witches' Oak is just a finger-
Jutting, accusing, screaming in the Smog.
My window is slate now, my dear,
And I- Dear? Why are you so quiet?
The- The Fog? What about the-
You... My dear? Who was that?
Oh! I hear knocks at our door,
I shall hasten to greet our friends,
I open the great portal and scream
For the Fog rolls on and on-
And, you see, it stops for none.