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Lonely Hearts Band

The bastard son

Of a butchers gun

No family, no friends, no relations

His path led the way

To death and decay

No home, no love, no nation

Shielded by hate

Guarding his gate

Of might through intimidation

He stood before all

Malignant and tall

The wrathful hand of damnation

Until one winter's night

Beneath snow and lamp light

His bloodied knuckles still gleaming

A kindhearted soul

Her nightly favors sold

Saw past the pain to the healing

She knelt by his side

Stockings torn like her pride

And offered a tired but strong hand

He took it and found

Love in the sound

Of the beat of the Lonely Hearts Band

Copyright: All rights reserved. Nobody can use, redistribute, reiterate, reproduce, copy, or in any other way incorporate what I have written or I might get really mad. I may even sue you. I live smack-dab in the middle of a town filled with starving lawyers. And not just that, I have a lot of time on my hands and could really use some of your money.

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