Lying alone, such a horrible task. However the woman, without fail, is at her lord's side. Though throughout the day he only threatens to tan her hide. Bumps in the road, a quickly popped pill, that ache in her side, is now nil. Links in the chain, a gambling game, which he so often dares. Spiders crawl through the wood, making their beds proper as little children should. A smile so rare and fierce, anything that veil to pierce. Lightning sizzles the air, tell the story of her death waiting there. An eye for an I said the king. A blind bleeding world all to save me. Ego, maybe too much. The prince he lies low on the hunch. Ribbon, red and fine, as the gluttons of life drink to all they judge divine. Never does the clock strike midnight, and the little blond soul so tortured is never released. None do cry in grief, what a wonderful horror story. About a sad little child named Lori. Here is the end, though the wicked will have no rest.