The river shines with a copper hue,
Whispering tales of evil long due.
Bamboo pokes with a flightless stare,
Longing to say what mortals won't dare.
The banyan bows like a grieving priest,
Slowly slumbering into the forbidden feast.
Bricks, so old, sigh with mold,
Remnants of a past, lingering untold.
A widow hymns with a haunted tone,
Weaving lies she calls her own.
Dreaming in the dark, abyss of night,
Away from life, away from sight.
Not a saint, who paints in blood,
Pulling the strings behind your back.
Each one, a deadly charm,
Too strong to stop, too hard to crack.