March of the Goblins

The vile things go marching north,

To the land of cold and ice with torment in hand.

They creep in with the winter and drain color from the trees.

The vile things go marching North,

Quickly now with anger in tow

As their sharp rows and rows of teeth clash

Against the cold air in glimpses of white

Amidst rough goblin skin.

Their hides are like leather roughened and broke

In the sun for years on end,

Yet warted and scaled like that of a tortoise.

Their colors suck away the sun

And blend with the night in shades

Of brown, rust, and black.

The vile things go marching North,

Roaring and stomping as they go.

Hungry jaws and danger claws

Rip flesh from bone and frame,

Drink blood as hot steam rises

From the corpses of those they fell.

The vile things go marching North

And paint the snow red and black.

They claim town after town with no remorse.

Doors shut tight and lock

As people hide behind frail shelter

While the wind howls with their snarls

Through the longest reaches of night.

The vile things go marching North

Across frozen lakes and mountain tops

Down to each valley with life left

To feast upon and torment.

The vile things come marching North

To visit my dreams and days as well.

I wait for them with shivers

In the cold breath of fear

As the lantern flickers in my window

And the hound bays in unease.

The town bell sits in silence for now

But I know

The vile things come marching North.