I’ve had something precious
Something stolen from me
The culprit hides himself in black and white and calls himself a king
Some are blue, some are indigo, some are orange and green
But he’ll treat them like they’re nothing and he’ll horde them and he’ll sing
“My collection is the best
No one else has more than me
From some pretty girls, I stole
I stole their treasures and their dreams
My vendetta is without a doubt to hurt, to bruise, to maim
To scratch the light out of the eyes of unsuspecting women.”
A magpie’s jewels are his pride and joy
They show that he’s a man
No one dares clean up the emotional debris
After all, “it’s how I am”
But I can feel my flesh begin to rot around the hole my jewel was taken from
So my plan is to devise an attack, kill him and take his throne
Maybe then I’ll know what it’s like to kill two birds with one stone.
Featured photo supplied.
