Fumbled Are

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Leptagon

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She comes in the dead of night
And does not knock on the door
She sneaks in the dead of night
And scrapes her nails on the floor
As quiet as a mouse, as strong as an ox
She takes your soul
And vanishes quick as she came
The night sky black as coal
Gash, slash and fulfilled star
Whilst the few far fumbled are
Torn, scorned and disembarked
Pay the putrid sorted narc-head
By mountains, hills and trickling streams
She flies above undaunted 
The houses in which we live
We wish will go unhaunted
The clock is ticking, time has gone
Her time has come to do
The unthinkable act, the unthinkable theft of
A soul dear to you
Gash, slash and fulfilled star
Whilst the few far fumbled are
Torn, scorned and disembarked
Pay the putrid sorted narc-head
To see her eyes through her hair
Is to see the end of life
No regrets can be solved
No grief, toil or strife
Happy memories, sights or sounds
Can’t  weigh the scales in your favour
Forget all your thoughts, your ways
Your soul now is her flavour
No buttered sticks with sage or thyme
Can ward her off, she’s solely
Come for her prize her possession
Not half, not partial but wholly
To the carriage she doth points
And now you cannot resist
Her unrelenting force wrenches your soul
From your chest
Gash, slash and fulfilled star
Whilst the few far fumbled are
Torn, scorned and disembarked
Pay the putrid sorted narc-head
As you draw one last breath
You see your home get smaller
It is now a distant glimmer
A distant memory
A distant star

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