Ol' Scratch, a fine an merry one was he.
In fields so dark he ruled alone .
So grim a fate he cast so fierce
on lonely sod and anguish tree.
With claws and bite for ever more
he draws a blood no costlier found
from hearts a broken and scattered a ground.
Ol' Scratch, who cuts a deeper wound
than sword or knife or tongue has he.
Ol' Scratch, who knows thy shaming now
yet holds it back, a blade so precise
for your soul he doth debase.