A bride in white
With the lace trim
And satin slippers, whispers
Cautious as the groom strolls
For she knows that he lies
But she hides
And she cries
And she bides her time
Trying to get it just right
Potent is the dish
In which revenge sits
But she wishes
Oh she wishes
That it wouldn’t end like this
But fate has other plans
As the grooms men stroll
Taking tallies of the delicious whims
And dances of the girls last night
Soaking up the boose
And the drugs too
Groom lost his hand
But found it again
At least
That is how the story goes
told to the waiting bridesmaid
On the front page of the news stand
But she of course didn’t listen
Wouldn’t wish this in any man
Or women, for that matter
And yet we sit in the closet
Bride holding the blade in hand
While the groom lays on the ground
Retelling the story from the news stand
As the braidmaids listen
and the grooms men walk
Only to sit by because lies aren’t enough
So the groom goes to reach
Guess he found his hand agian
But oh wait…
It’s gone!
