Time flies by,
Like a wandering draft on a hot summer's night
And like the blooming flower,
On a warm spring's morn,
A little girl was born
Lucy they named her,
The apple of their eye
Lucy they named her,
Lucy Wright
But little did they know,
Of what young Lucy had in store,
For Lucy was not all as she seemed
She had a secret buried deep
In fact, she was not even a she,
But a he, and a specific he,
The "he" who was rotting in the ground,
Or the "he" whose ashes flew around
Indeed, Adam was reborn,
And he did his best to hide his scorn
Which he held back with all his might,
A chilly revenge, a hateful spite.
YOU ARE READING
Woe Of The Wrights
PoetryA song of crippling vengeance and hateful darkness. The tale of the Wright family is nothing short of blood curdling horror.
