A mighty smirk
clothed a
mousy lurk
He's got skills
that goes for days
He likes to witness
your slow decay

A majestic road
that likes to be a runner
He likes to spin webs
in a sickly thump-er
Last woken memory
is a head bouncing
*****

Could sit here
pass a pen
point those fingers
But there's room
for everyone
to win the
blame game
with nasty little fibbers
To each their own
Grave of three
waiting to be
called home