The day was cold
The mood was dark
In a house full of mold
In the house where hatred will spark
The timing was perfect,
For a nice old fashioned murder
There would be no suspect
And little ardor
So thought an clever old man
Who plotted
The death of his little old wife, Anne
But became knotted at the death of his own wife
He waited for her to arrive at home
And at that moment
He started to foam like a rabid raccoon
And with much emotion
He sliced her neck
With the knife
That will set him in a wreck
And ended her life
The helpless body laid there
And he started to freak
And swear
And shout
He turned to his knife
And started slicing his wrists
With the grieve of his wife
He wondered why he even exists.
And then it happened
He was dead
And all was forgotten
And the dread was gone
