My old friends

My old friends have come to play, they whistle at me, sit on my fence, they want me out and dancing, I can see them gathering wood, preparing the knots, carefully unravelling the ropes. My friends know me well, they are certain that I’ll play, through my windows, I can see them waving, Once they are ready, they will come knock. That night terror will call, hope, future, and fortune will be gone, fate, tragedy and misfortune will ensue, , that day, preparations will be done, the knot will be tight, a swift choke. My friends’ fangs seem sharp, I look at them every morning when I brush, They are ready, frenetic; they call me with their long nails, They want me to walk with them into the dark, one day fire will burn, the ropes will be set, and without hope, I’ll walk into the game. My old friends have come to play.