At first, it was of mild interest
Lo’ and behold, this is no longer the case
Occasionally, the chain rips from the wall
My day is at hand, and she is to be my bride
But her resistance and strength appear to be on the rise
Before tomorrow, she may escape
And I watch, it’s too dark to see
Those teary eyes watching me
But I wait, for her to come (which she will) for the meath
Fourteen months, seem like a week
The chain is broken again
Tracks to the window
Tracks to the door
Muddied tracks
Lead upstairs
Blood…?
My blood!