Mrs Lovett
Wild, curely reddish black hair
Curved around a face so fair
Skin deathly pale, eyes sunken and black
Smirking at the screams coming from out back
"Please help me" He rasps, her smile grows
"It'll be over soon, dearie" She knows
Hands on her hips, she contentedly sighs "
Soon they'll all come for Mrs Lovett's Meat Pies"
A thud sounds as her heart swells with pride
"At last" She thinks "My victim has died"
Crossing the room, she opens the door
To the greengrocer, laying dead on the floor
Later that night, the fire glows bright
While making her pies, she sings with delight
Tomorrow, her shop will be filled to the brim
And all of this is thanks to that lovely man
She bites her lip, so soft, and pale
Swishing her hands and busily pouring ale
Her hollow eyes, her filthy black gloves
She works to please, driven mad by love
© Tamara Tattersall, 1st September, 2008