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.