In a mean abode on the Pavis Road
Lived a man named Harmast Bloat
He had a wife, the bane of his life
Yes she always got his goat
So one day at dawn with his nightdress on
He decided to slit her throat
With a razor gash he settled her hash
Oh, never was crime so quick
But the drip-drip-drip on the pillowslip
Of her life's blood made him sick
And the pool of gore forming on the floor
Grew clotted and cold and thick
Still he was glad he had done what he had
As she lay there stiff and still
But the sudden thought of the angry law
Gave his heart an icy chill
So to finish the fun so well begun
He decided himself to kill
He took the sheet from his wife's cold feet
And he twisted it into a rope
And he hanged himself from the pantry shelf
'Twas an easy end, let's hope
But in dying pain, the cord, in vain
He attempted to grasp and grope
But the strangest turn of the whole concern
Is only just beginnin'
He went to Hell, but his wife got well
Yes she's still alive and sinnin'
For the razor blade was Lunar-made...
But the rope was Sartar linen!
Bob Vesterman.
- --
This is the coolest of all sig files.
End of The Glorantha Digest V6 #485
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