Now Jonathan Lister,
Loved Mary, his sister,
When as children they used to play.
But the years kept on turning,
And strange fires kept burning,
Till innocence faded away.
Now Jonathan Lister,
Cared for his sister,
They moved to Norfolk one day.
They wandered together,
Through moorland and heather,
And the locals all urged them to stay.
But whispers grew bolder,
As nights became colder,
And reason began to decay.
For Mary heard voices,
Whispered inhuman choices,
That turned right and wrong into gray.
Then one solemn evening,
While pale moons were gleaming,
A book of the old arts there lay.
Its pages were speaking,
Of power worth seeking,
And dreams that could lead men astray.
They read through the verses,
Of blessings and Curses,
And summoned what none should obey.
A demon came sighing,
With laughter undying,
And listened to them as they pray.
“Your wish shall be granted,
But seeds once planted,
Bear fruit that will not fade away.”
Soon she gave birth,
To no child of this earth,
The Church came and sent it away.
Then darkness descended,
And reason was ended,
As madness demanded its stay.
The concept of time,
For humans seems fine,
Back and forth is the Demonic way.
Moments stretch endless,
Or vanish relentless,
In a house where no clocks dare stay.
Now Jonathan Lister,
And poor Mary, his sister,
Were never quite right from that day.
The Neighbours would wonder,
Cowed by the thunder,
At what in that cottage did play.
And when storms are raging,
And madness is waging,
The villagers still softly say:
“Beware, oh beware,
Of the Listers’ old lair,
Demons abide where together they lay.
