Run, run, run away, from the man with no face. A business suit of black, sword-sharp tendrils on his back, and leaves without a trace.
Run, run, run and hide, somewhere you think he cannot find. No matter where you hide, he'll be standing right by your side, glaring with his non-existent eyes.
He says, 'don't you fret my dear, it will all be over soon. I'll be waiting here for you.'
Run fast as you can, far away from the Slenderman. Fly high across the sky from here to kingdom come. Keep on running until you're done.
He says, 'don't you fret my dear, it will all be over soon. I'll be waiting here for you.'
Run, run, run away, from the man with no face.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem