[Verse 1] Hush now, child, the dusk has flown, The mire stirs and you’re alone. Mist rolls in where secrets sleep, And something stirs beneath the deep. [Verse 2] Scales that shimmer, eyes that gleam, A hunter born of shadowed dream. It waits where moonlight dares not go, Where lanterns die and lilies grow. [Chorus] Sing soft, sing slow, beware the tide, The croc of old begins to glide. Its breath is cold, its heart is still, It hunts with patience, waits to kill. [Verse 3] Once it fed on wicked men, Now none return who wander in. The swamp remembers every name, And feeds the beast that none can tame. [Bridge] A crown of weeds upon its brow, The mire has made it sovereign now. No sword nor fire breaks the curse, Each step you take—it watches first. [Chorus – Reprise] Sing soft, sing slow, don’t make a sound, Lest ripples stir the cursed ground. For in the reeds it waits below, The Croc that claims the drowned in woe. [Outro – Whispered] Hush now, child, don’t start to cry... The swamp has ears. And so do I.
