The Witch Must Die

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It is a universal truth
One that sinks in during youth
If you try perchance to dream
Unravel stories at the seams
You’ll find witches in the stitches
Jealous crones and bitter bitches

Cut your feet on broken glass
Truthful mirrors never last
Soaked in blood, those little pieces
Sing a lyric, one that teases
‘Mirror Mirror on the floor
Shards that cut us to the core
We both know the witch must die
But no one ever ponders why’

Is it just that she is old
Skin all wrinkled, full of folds
Beauty is a woman’s worth
That of course, and giving birth
And when those things have run their course
We learn to hate her with such force

A thousand creams wont smooth her face
So much effort gone to waste
And no one hates her more than she
The mirror just wont let her be
In every eye she’s disappearing
It isn’t death that she is fearing
It’s watching others turn away
Disregarding all she says
As nonsense talk, just old wives tales
Her voice grows thinner, turns more frail
And all her knowledge putrefies
She is not clever, is not wise

Men she’s told are like fine wine
Growing better over time
But she is milk now turning sour
Withered like a long plucked flower
She has two choices; fade away
Or sell her soul so she can play
The game of witches, queens and hags
Of maiden’s blood, of gowns and rags

And thus she may prolong her story
A villainess in all her glory
But still she knows the end will come
And to her fate, the witch succumbs

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