IRC-Galleria

Long ago, I used to know, of a little old village named Bree,
And on a hill, scraggly and strange, lay the hanging tree,

I used to play, and laugh with friends, but never around that spot,
For around its whispering branches, is where my father was shot,

I would see the moonlight loom, over the branches bare,
IÂ’ll never forget Danny, who disappeared after that dare,

I told him not to go, but in the night he went,
To carve his initials in the bark, that's the reason he was sent.

One by one they left, why I could never see,
One by one they escaped, the wrath of the hanging tree,

Soon in the lonely town, I was the only one near,
I began to hear the voices echoing in my ear,

“Why do you plague me?” I used to shout and scream,
“Why don’t you leave?” But no answer I could deem,

I found no rest at night, I could not eat or sleep,
I began to see my fears; my sanity struggled to keep,

Finally I figured out, what I must do to be free,
So with a rope in hand, I walked to the hanging tree.

The wind whipped, the lightning flashed, I knew there was no going back,
I let it go, my torment ended, with a simple crack.

The town stayed quiet, until it was built, a building on a hill,
The wind used to blow; it used to be safe, now itÂ’s deathly still,

YouÂ’ll never know the old gray oak that sits beyond the door
That is the same old branch, that remains forevermore,

That figure, yes, that shadow, that watches you all day,
That gives you feelings of nervousness, in each and every way.

If you should ever feel, a need to look for me,
Just come, and meet that figure, beneath the hanging treeÂ…

-Sakuma