My Queen and Her Child
Run far away my unknown living child
Follow me across and up the brown stairs
For it is I whom makes your heart too mild
I will kill the sweet smell of your red hair.
Sweet queen, today you are to be no more
Please follow my cold living hand reaching
No more you are, yet death reaches no door
Enslaved you are, continuing, teaching.
I think of reaching for my hidden gun
Pray just before your sudden gruesome death
My jest toward you is not a damn pun
Silent I must not stay, even when deaf.
I can not compare your skin with one word
Turn away, I say, my disgusting sword.
|