The Trampled Artists

Someone spilt the writer's dreams,

She'll never write again,

Massacred the painter's muse,

His deadline: tonight at 10.


Someone stole the poet's tongue,

Now she can speak no more,

Someone dashed the musician's hopes,

By throwing away his score.


Someone promised me the world,

And left me on an island bare,

His liar's tongue echoing words,

The wind of his breath in my hair.


Someone walked into his room,

They say he spoke out of turn,

Tied him to a kitchen chair,

Made him watch his camera burn.


Someone whispers in the trees,

They cut off both her ears,

Dropping delicate diamond words,

The violinist no longer hears.


Someone tiptoes through his living room,

And smashes his baby grand,

In the morning he wakes from a drugged sleep,

And they've cut off both his hands.


Someone took her heart today,

And put her fire out,

And if this be the last verse that she writes,

It's a hell of a way to go out.

The End

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