Sackcloth sentinel, seemingly sequestered to a loam of wiccan throes
Cruciform posing as an effigy, your presence is beyond scaring crows
And those who impaled you, nailed you, to a cross of crumbling wood
Rooted in the crop, your petrified face hidden beneath a rippling hood
In the shimmering distance they're all around you, all the buzzing flies
Nefarious creatures, laying their eggs for maggots in your empty eyes
Gagging putrefaction's caught and wisped on a breeze and fills the air
Causing all the ravenous birds of a feather, to flee and feed elsewhere
Rotting occultists oblation, you were once upon a time, a man of straw
Often heard in many ominous nightmares and of what's passed before
Whispering in weird incomprehensible tortured tongues, as if to repent
Staving off those who gorge in a frenzy, with a scarecrow's last lament
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