There was a crook,
More cunning than any other,
For the blue-blooded treasures he took,
Death, to him, was too drunk to be sober.
On the night of a dreary winter,
He had slain a knight of land's adore,
His wealth were sweet whispers
Of their master's lost lore.
When the sunny hypocrite was set to task,
A lass he did came upon,
And his heart, no more an empty glass
Invited the blameless to his land's song.
The crook was now nothing but a shadow,
To the heavens he showed a lover,
Yet his past was cherished below,
Swear he did to become another
"Beloved, thy heart is at thou's keep.
All sins for this ill crook,
Found eternity for its sleep
For in thou's eyes heaven is surely to look!"
Oh, such ecstasy was her smile!
Euphoria was the caress of her lips!
Not one memory was so fine,
But the passion of their kiss!
Yet how was he to know?
That secrets were to plague?
For she was but a widow,
Of the noble slain by the knave!
So her dagger in her hands,
As they swayed in quiet lyrics,
True was death to all lands,
That all souls were his relicks!
Stab she did his chest,
Till crimson slithered down
His lashes closed to crests
No screams were heard aloud.
But to this silent sinner,
Death had never been kinder,
For in her arms he recieved death,
And there he drew his last breath.
