Harvest Havoc (A Zardy Track)

Dark folk horror, fiddle drones, banjo plucks, metallic scythe swipes, rustic drums, whisper choirs, crow calls, lantern crackle, deep bass hum

Hhh… hear that wind?
That’s the maze a-breathin’.
You took a wrong turn, city-folk —
Now the stalks start teethin’.

Don’t talk loud, the roots can hear,
They whisper names when prey walks near.
Lantern flicker, shadows crawl,
You’re not alone — not at all.

See, the field don’t sleep at night,
It hums, it groans — it bites.
You feel eyes? You’re half right.
The scarecrow’s up, and the moon’s alight.

Step careful now, don’t brush the row,
The vines remember where you go.
The lantern sways, the wind starts hummin’,
And ol’ Zardy knows — you’re comin’.

Whistle through the maze, hear it croon,
A scarecrow sings to the harvest moon.
Tattered hat, rope-stitched grin,
Every verse drags you deeper in.

You thought this place was dead and dry,
But every rustle’s a lullaby.
Every shadow bends and bows,
To the one who plows and prowls.

Swing, swing, cut the reed,
Run, run — you’ll feed the seed!
Harvest calls, the lantern’s gleam,
Wake the soil, split the dream!

Corn husks chatter, whispers crawl,
Crows take flight and start to call.
Each cry echoes: "Don’t delay!"
But the maze don’t let you stray.

I ain’t a monster made from wire,
I’m born of burlap, smoke, and fire.
Roots in mud, curse in grain,
Bound by blood, and bound by pain.

Now run! The moon’s burnin’ gold,
The stalks close in, the air turns cold!
You twist, you turn, the rows all blend,
There’s no way out, no final bend!

I dance through crops, a slicing blur,
My laughter cuts just like a spur.
Scythe in hand, my lantern swings,
And with each swing, another screams!

Your heartbeat’s thumpin’ in my field,
That’s my rhythm — that’s my yield!
Each step you take, I’m right behind,
The harvest reaper, sharp-toothed, blind!

"Reap the rotten, sow the sin,
Turn the soil, drag ‘em in!"
The ground will drink, the roots will grin,
And the scarecrow’s feast begins again!

Shh… no more runnin’, no more screams,
Just the hush of hollow dreams.
Lantern flickers, moon grows dim,
Another soul to join my hymn.

So rest now, friend, the corn’s grown high,
The crows will circle, the night will sigh.
The harvest ends — the soil will keep,
And ol’ Zardy sings you to sleep.

Heheheh… sweet dreams…

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Hhh… hear that wind? That’s the maze a-breathin’. You took a wrong turn, city-folk — Now the stalks start teethin’. Don’t talk loud, the roots can hear, They whisper names when prey walks near. Lantern flicker, shadows crawl, You’re not alone — not at all. See, the field don’t sleep at night, It hums, it groans — it bites. You feel eyes? You’re half right. The scarecrow’s up, and the moon’s alight. Step careful now, don’t brush the row, The vines remember where you go. The lantern sways, the wind starts hummin’, And ol’ Zardy knows — you’re comin’. Whistle through the maze, hear it croon, A scarecrow sings to the harvest moon. Tattered hat, rope-stitched grin, Every verse drags you deeper in. You thought this place was dead and dry, But every rustle’s a lullaby. Every shadow bends and bows, To the one who plows and prowls. Swing, swing, cut the reed, Run, run — you’ll feed the seed! Harvest calls, the lantern’s gleam, Wake the soil, split the dream! Corn husks chatter, whispers crawl, Crows take flight and start to call. Each cry echoes: "Don’t delay!" But the maze don’t let you stray. I ain’t a monster made from wire, I’m born of burlap, smoke, and fire. Roots in mud, curse in grain, Bound by blood, and bound by pain. Now run! The moon’s burnin’ gold, The stalks close in, the air turns cold! You twist, you turn, the rows all blend, There’s no way out, no final bend! I dance through crops, a slicing blur, My laughter cuts just like a spur. Scythe in hand, my lantern swings, And with each swing, another screams! Your heartbeat’s thumpin’ in my field, That’s my rhythm — that’s my yield! Each step you take, I’m right behind, The harvest reaper, sharp-toothed, blind! "Reap the rotten, sow the sin, Turn the soil, drag ‘em in!" The ground will drink, the roots will grin, And the scarecrow’s feast begins again! Shh… no more runnin’, no more screams, Just the hush of hollow dreams. Lantern flickers, moon grows dim, Another soul to join my hymn. So rest now, friend, the corn’s grown high, The crows will circle, the night will sigh. The harvest ends — the soil will keep, And ol’ Zardy sings you to sleep. Heheheh… sweet dreams…

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