by Nick Gisburne
The spirit takes possession of his mind
A ghost, a girl, who lost her life today
She sends him through the winter winds to find
The body, buried where she used to play
With feeble, frozen fingers he must dig
They blister as he struggles in the hole
But why, for one so small, a grave so big?
She warns him not to question her control
A limp, pathetic bundle is revealed
And lifted from the shadows of the pit
She orders him to open it, to yield
To witness what he struggles to admit
Her spirit stops his heart, too sick to save
Delivering her killer to the grave
