It was December, a cold frigid day,
When I was in the Pinstripe Parlor, just brisking away. As for my task, I hadn't a plan. All I knew was that I hated this man. He had wronged me, like so many. So I decided I've had plenty.
He was reading a simple book, Had the ribbon in the nook.
When I grabbed him by the hair and strapped him to the chair. He was facing the fire, Boy was he a crier. It almost felt a dream, Oh, he tried so hard to scream!
I shut him with a cloth, I will have done this more than oft
I pulled out the knife, ran it along his face Traced around his heart, it had been in a race. I thrust once through the ribs, and sliced all about,
Choking on his blood, I ripped his heart out.
But then I look in his eyes. Watched the light drain away , I had only one thing to say, Writhing in death he was, Struggling for freedom he was, Trying to beg for his life he was,
Tears streaming down his face, What I had to say was,....
I looked in his eyes and watched the life ebb from his face.
Slowly, so slowly, I draped him in lace.
THEN IN WALKS HIS WIFE!OH! This startled me with strife!
What a scene it must have been to witness this unholy sin: A bloody man with lace, covering her open-chested husband's face A heart on the floor, blood reaching to the door.
A madman with a knife and a glint in his eye.
She knows he watched her husband die. I looked at her, and cracked a grin, I laugh at this entire thing. I turn and start to her. Was she scared? Oh, I'm sure!
Horror clouds her face as I increase my pace.
All she does is stand there, Still as a mast. But all I do is pass. She stirs and runs to her husband, and wails his lovely name. No one heard his last words, No one will hear hers.