In the twisting of the road where the grass grow fit
A house with a pond and a bridge is to sit

Two happy lovers with their tangled limbs in bed
Usher in the morning with muscles laying dead

Night time love making exhausts their souls
And all through the night he filled her holes

Not holes of the flesh, or holes of the face
But holes in the soul that make waste of one's base

Wife lay comatose with dandelion hair
And husband sit attentive to watch and stare

Watch, watch her sleep just in case she escape
Tangled **** in his bed as if covered in drape

Early at dawn he begins to seek her flesh
For beneath her flesh lay something to enmesh

Fill, fill the holes so watchful lover
And harvest the body that sleeps under cover.