The Lady- A Trilogy

The Lady In The Well

Oh dear me mister I'm quaking in my clothes
I'm so scared of being unconscious or dead
You'll taint my mind, with awful thoughts
Made into flashing scenes I dread

You might poison the water I drink
Or have thick needles upright hidden in my bed
You might set a ghoulish banshee on me
To slice my head off with thread

You can send a mob to hurt me
With so many sticks and stones
They could hang me on a stake
After breaking all my bones

And if you're not finished
You can come and find me by your own
13th Elm Street, Fellow's Walk
The house with the thousand gnomes

But if you look down the well
A sorry sight I say, you'll see
A tangled mess, in a wedding dress
Dear mister, that mess is me

I Saw The Lady In The Well

I saw the lady in the well
The one I had tried to kill
She was an awful mess, in her wedding dress
With a smile so blank and still

Her eyes were empty, no feeling, nothing
Her mouth open five inches wide
To swallow a living man's spirit, and bring him to her
Far away from his own loving bride

But she was calling for me, and in silent words
My help she needed, she said
I could not listen to her, I really could not
I told myself strictly, she was dead

But as I stood watching that scene
I couldn't have stopped, or fled
I twisted my neck, to wretch off my eyes
And ended up taking off my own head

To save my skull I stooped so low
And reached for that damned limb with scorn
But my feet were rooted to the ground
And from the ankles my body was torn

I fell harsh and fast, but had time to think
About what Susan would say
When she saw her husband, headless and dead
In a well, one horrible, rainy day

My Husband and The Lady

The morning was peaceful and quiet
And I had quite a lot of time to feel contrite
As I sat stitching, my mind was itching
With a notion that something wasn't quite right

It must be the sun
I said to myself, strictly like Michael would say
When he felt light-headed, about the things he dreaded
On a warm, stifling summer's day

And when the neighbourhood gentlewoman came running to me
I thought it was my help she wanted
But when I saw the sight, she had led me to see
I felt it was her help I terribly needed

My husband, dead, in his own blood
Far from where I thought he would die
In a stupid well, music cattle bells
It had to be, a scary lie

It was not my husband, it couldn't be
Take him out, and pray let me see
I tell you, my husband, this man ought not to be
I'll tell ye, just take him out for me

So the men heaved a rope, to the ditch below
And heaved till the man was in sight
That pocket watch, and the stains of scotch
Told me it was my husband, quite right

-End-