The Village

What twisted town lies in the vale,

With gallows from the streetlights built?

Its main street like a gothic tale,

The side streets with dark rumors filled.


A central square where crows do feast

Upon the eyes of village girls,

In praise of some immortal beast

That sleeps beneath the townsfolk’s church.


A child walks down the street in tears,

His bloody mouth calls for his mum.

She has been dead for seven years,

Yet still her twitching hand is warm


As she spins silk from roof to roof,

Three pairs of legs beneath her womb.

Meanwhile, below, the major’s hoof

Keeps kicking from within his tomb.


What twisted town has welcomed you

And will not let you leave again?

There’s still so much to see and do!

Just maybe not for living men …

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