The Hurfl

By a river, by a field, by the dark, dark wood
Stood the house of Peter's Gran
She was old, she was sick, Peter did what he could
He was such a kind young man

Daily, he went to the dark, dark wood
To gather some logs for the fire
His Gran said "Come back before night.
If you don't, your fate will be dire

For every night in the dark, dark wood
The Hurfl roams abroad
Of those that have stayed there in the night
There's never been any word"

Peter wasn't afraid of the dark, dark wood
He thought the Hurfl was a sham
But he still came home before night
For the sake of his sick, old Gran.

But nights grew long in the dark, dark wood
And finding logs was hard
Peter had ventured too far in
But, still, he wasn't scared

Then he heard a snap in the dark, dark wood
And his heart began a racing
A black shape sped from tree to tree
It was Peter it was chasing.

So Peter ran through the dark, dark wood
The shape was ever nearing
He zigged and zagged, and zagged and zigged
Until he saw a clearing

Then headlong through the dark, dark wood
Peter ran, and fell, and tumbled
And in the distance came a voice
A growling kind of rumble

Peter ran on through the dark, dark wood
He could hear the sound of breathing
He could almost feel it on his neck
Then a tree root sent him reeling

So, there, within the dark, dark wood
Peter met his fate
A heavy paw upon him fell
And in a voice from the depths of hell
The Hurfl growled "You're it."