The setting is quiet. The time is dusk. The world is cold, and hatred is must. The house is big, and the family small. The mother short, and father tall. The child lonely, and the rooms unholy. The food cold, the walls, moldy. The stories long and the love short. The hearts here, to be easily court. For they so desperately cling to, what all the all lovers sing to. What all that evil rings to, and to all kings, too. For all we want, is someone in charge, to collect our trinkets and put us behind bars. To stand in our place, to cover our face. To clean up spilled blood in make shift haste.
