Did Lord Byron give you your faith - - In monsters resolute to ringing their wraith? Did he screw your step sister tasteless While summoning cruciformed purists. Did his poetry bring you to listen To the hip sway of some panting vixen Sending your lover mad to the basement To dwell on horned ghastly ooze rent. He made his guests wager their souls As a game, but was it learned behavior? To the weak minds sold & betrayed Sacrificed to the unholiest savior. Byron, and guests, summoned a sprig fiend, and pretended the storm was well planned And when one and all moved on to preen He let loose with secret words banned. Mary, an educated lay to be Thought the Lord queer to only read Books that were ancient and taboo While the others merrily shared in the deed. A curse, that from that night swayed From one to all before dawn And like the good book fervently said, "The will of God's never wrong." After that night, they were all short lived Lovers, writers, and even the Lord Evil can go hardly-soft to semi-liquid When windows are too clear for nailed board. Women need babies to be filled with life Whether by will, or the shortest straw But Mary made demons before a wife Her need was of faith, soon to be law. If you make life in jars, or by love's reciting Beware of what morning may bring A creature rebuilt is always worth writing Bound to your flight, a draft under-wing. Some have a loose pen-stock And the hired help to ignore Your sanity's neck noosed clock And shocked monsters folk-lored. My Mary lost all of her heirs When property couldn't make peace Compared to the villager's stares at the mind behind pride's sutured lease.