Made from dead body-parts and lightning bolt
with cut-out hearts and a dead convict's brain
that pined for death like a death song's refrain
and longed for the peaceful sepulcher vault,
its origins were not designed by fault
of God on the jut of that far-most plain
of Frankenstein--a madman once again
by granting that monster's Bride, lest it revolt.
That mad scientist then fashioned its bride
with lifeless parts and lightning's eerie surge.
She came to life and saw it at her side:
but she screamed! its face was an ugly scourge.
So died its hope to ease its lonely hell--
this hopeless freak of this most wretched tale!