He's a rough boy
A tough boy.
Mud brown eyes, blotched and cold.

The thin lips smile
for a while,
Then curl and droop in smug disdain.

He wants this house
It's not his home,
He'll kill and maim until nothing remains.

He is not aware
Of the story so far
Only the tales that have been sung before.

The dead can't talk
They lie in stench.
The bloodied spoil is all that's left.