A turn of sorts as she shouted short in the court
'Dont' let my soul be sold for your pot of gold'
In a dash the cash was out like a flash
and her control to too bold for her waining hold.
The jury followed the judge and all nudged away
Melting raised eyebrows into cold shadows
Before she knew it she had blown it
Her soul laid down paid, taken by the narrows.
A cold dark room she was left with a broom
To sweep her cheap feet up the steep hill
Rain falling as she began crawling
Soul gone, pages torn for a condemned bill.
The hang man pangs at the side of the road
With a full gleaming set of side poking knives
But her eyes are still there to flare her flame
'Your cold is so old, without you, my soul thrives
Look what you've done, these people you've hung
You blame again but you should be ashamed.
Your gold's melted red from your sickening head
I'm not yours, never was' I proclaimed.
Now clouds turn white pages as they mark the stages
Unfolding steps to the top of the mountain
Her hair in the air and a new jar of flare
It's all now clear as she peers in the fountain.
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