Content Warning: Murder, Stalking
She stepped into view
And the men turned their heads
Their dates all but forgotten
They stared unabashed
Golden-brown hair tumbled
Out from its clasp
Skin a glowing brown
Cheeks a healthy pink
Undaunted by their stares
Her simple lined dress
Brought out her form
It swayed around her feet
It looked like she was
Floating on fog
Amongst the tavern no sound was heard
They all had stopped their talking
Saw behind her creep
A man who’s clothes
Contrasted her own
And they knew he was stalking
Stalking, stalking
They knew he was stalking their own
Out came the guns
And out game the knives
And out came the angry voices
The men of the tavern
Would rescue their own
The men would not leave
Their love alone
Their beauty stood still
Their beauty stood silent
As a knife flashed around her throat
She awaited the blow
That would let her go
Walk down glory road
Her crisp white dress
Of morning fog
Was stained by a drop of blood
As down fell crimson
Crimson, crimson
Down fell the crimson blood of their own
A shot rang out
And the man fell back
With a thud he hit the floor
But the tavern men
Couldn’t save their own
She fell with her stalker
To the floor
And died in her own bloody gore
Silver sliver in her throat
Her foggy dress did not float
As the tavern men realized
The stalker had stolen
Stolen, stolen
The stalker had stolen their own
Image Description: A tree branch laden with small apples on the left side of the image. The right side of the image is an out of focus white balcony railing with carved wooden spindles.