Call Of Bok

Once upon a time, But not the kind you know, Where the bread rolls dark and the winds won't Blow. This ain't no nursery rhyme, this is a tale Of pain, Of, a Kolobok who walked through fire And walked again. He started small, just a round softball, Rolled from the oven, he heeded no call. "I'm off," he said with a smile so sweet, But the world was cruel and the streets were Mean. The hare came first with eyes so wide. Kolobok just grinned, now he's deep inside. The wolf came next, all teeth and might, But he met his end in the dead of Night. Oh, I'm rolling on, but I'm not the Same. Every bite I took, I lost a piece of My name. Not a hero, just a soul grown cold. In this darkened world, I've been sold. Rolling on. The Bear came roaring, "You're mine to eat," But Kolobok just laughed, now he's in the street. Each one he consumed, a piece of his soul Fell to the ground, out of his control. He felt the hunger, a fire so deep, A curse he couldn't shake, a promise to keep. No more soft dough, no more gentle roll, just A hardened shell losing his soul. "Was it worth it?" He whispered low. "To survive, did I have to go? Did I become the monster they feared when all I wanted was to be unharmed?" The wind howled back but gave no reply, Just the echo of screams beneath the sky. Oh, I'm rolling on, but I'm not the same. Every bite I took, I lost a piece of My name. Not a hero, just a soul grown cold. In this darkened world, I've been sold. Rolling on. So he rolls on through the fog and the Rain, carrying the weight of his endless pain. No home, no warmth, no place to rest, Just the path ahead and a hollow chest. Fading. Rolling on.