The campfire ash is cold and gray, The witch’s oven cools to rust, Two shadow-hunters walk away, Leaving a family in the dust. They pocket gold for every head, And toast their names in local bars, But no one asks about the dead, Or what the broken houses are. For Hansel counts the silver coin, And Gretel sharpens up the blade, But who will weep for what they ruin, And who will mend the widows made? Deep in the roots where mosses grow, A little goblin starts to cry, He waits for father in the snow, But fathers who are monsters die. They say the troll was fierce and wild, They say he tore the village sheep, But no one saw him kiss his child, Before he laid her down to sleep. The witch they burned within the wood, Had silver hair and tired eyes, She fed the birds the best she could, Before the twin trolls spread their lies. Now mother’s gone, the hearth is black, Her daughter sweeps the empty floor, The bounty hunters don't look back, When they go kicking through the door. For Hansel counts the silver coin, And Gretel sharpens up the blade, But who will weep for what they ruin, And who will mend the widows made? The changeling boy, the shadow-born, The orphans of the fang and claw, They wake to find their world is torn, By righteous steel and human law. A "monster" is a heavy name, To carry when your parents bleed, While humans praise the hunters' game, And turn a slaughter to a deed. The children of the deceased hide, Beneath the roots, beneath the stone, While Hansel drinks with human pride, And Gretel claims another throne. The forest weeps, the shadows mourn, The victims that the world forgot, For every time a beast is torn, A family rots.
