Since hooded eyes have no way of looking back,
The scent of fresh baked pie must lead her little tracks
But something brambly falls across her path,
Direction is lost, what will it cost?
Will she fall on solid ground,
Or keep on falling further down?

A fall, after all, results in one thing - She could be dead
(She merely bled)
Little lost riding hood, it's all in her head
With no where else for her to go,
There's no point left in being red.

This Way............................................................That Way