In Marshy Moor of ancient times,
shrill screeches can be heard.
They say these cries are lunacy,
some fear to pass the word.
Foolish men have lost their way,
by following those screams.
Of them all, none have returned,
tall tales are true, it seems.
Most wander to its' soggy edge,
with good intent in mind.
Change of heart comes over them,
for courage can not find.
There was a man named Jerry Jones,
who chose to seal his fate.
His hat was found and nothing else,
for he, it was too late.
Should you go to Marshy Moor,
this warning take from me.
Cries are not of a woman lost,
and the trek comes with a fee.
