The flute

~ written by sgt. Mortaras

She is dark, she is cute, where is my flute?

She is white, she is still, what about that flute?

She is pink, she is fresh, when is time for my flute?

Walk, move, march, don’t think about your flute.

The Horror watches and his hounds are howling.

Walk, move, march, don’t look back.

She is still dark, but somewhat pale. Don’t touch it!

She was white, now kinda dead. Won’t let you see it!

She is sick, she is old. Let’s not talk about my flute!