The Constables Crisis

The fever is on now And the constable is stuck To watch it grow. He watches the bed sheets Cripple each day And at night he can hear The pennies weeping As they find no eyelids to cover. What causes this abomination To keep growing inside of her When the Devil himself spat it out? To hot to swallow, To cool to bite. He set his soul beside the mantel piece And sent his fingers to work, Slid his tongue between two bitter bribes, And sentenced himself to death.