Blood on the walls, mud in the halls. She must of done it right, its another good night.
No screams are heard, not even a word. She has her revenge, went on a binge.
Folks in the bars, more eyes in the jars. Their bodies don’t stand, their souls are all canned.
Burned at the stakes, no room for more cakes. They made her a fool, now their bloods in a pool.
We live in a fantisy, yet one can’t begin to see. Her ways may be cold, but might also be bold?
The choise is yours, don’t try to wage wars. Were these acts justified or just plain homicied?
Poetry
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