Beyond the pines, where shadows fade, a crooked cottage waits in shade. A silver voice beneath the eaves sings softly through the autumn leaves. “Come closer, child, the night is wide, there's shelter here, there's room inside.” Her gentle words like velvet fall, while dying candles stain the wall. Wirt sees the kindness in her eyes, but hears a different truth beneath the lies. For every promise, sweetly spun, there waits a price when all is done. A cup of tea, a whispered prayer, a thousand secrets in the air. The door is warm, the hearth is bright— yet something breathes beyond the light. Ådelaide, Ådelaide, your silver tongue conceals the blade. You promise roads beyond the trees, but bind the lost with whispered pleas. Ådelaide, Ådelaide, your kindness wears a borrowed face. And those who seek your guiding hand may never see their homeland. “Bring me the child, and I'll show the way. Do what I ask before the day.” The words fall soft, the bargain's made, while shadows lengthen in the shade. But Wirt refuses, turns away— some doors should never see the day. And as they flee beneath the trees, her laughter follows through the leaves. The sweetest voice can hide a thorn, the brightest promise can be worn. And every path that seems to lead you home may guide you somewhere darker still. NO! THE DEAL IS BROKEN! RUN! THE WOODS ARE OPEN! HER WORDS WERE CHAINS! HER SMILE A LIE! THE UNKNOWN WILL NOT LET YOU DIE! Ådelaide, Ådelaide, your silver tongue has lost its prey. The lantern fades, the cottage sleeps, while something follows through the deep. Ådelaide, Ådelaide, a name the dying forest keeps. We leave your shadow far behind— but not the darkness in our minds. The cottage waits... The candles fade... And somewhere in the woods... she calls your name.
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