Cottage Chronicles

Macbeth

Some come to you with their sweet nothings,

Many come to you with their negligible niceties,

And only a few come to you with their needs.

Of course, one might call those userers, 

Afterall the only time they remember the way home,

Is when they're bored, hungry or cold.

You might want to shut that door on their face,

And ask 'em to spend a cold night

Just like you did, alone on the rainy days.

Or, you could be one like me- the witch.

She has a few whom she calls her own,

She's nice to those who're nice to her,

But when the long lost men come back home,

She doesn't close the door.

She knows there is something they need,

And isn't it powerful to know,

That you must be the last resort

If someone comes in the wake of dawn.

So the witch laughs her sweet smile, 

Plump red lips and dainty eyes.

Harmless to all of course,

But the power of destruction lies in some lies.

But whose to check what she says,

A prediction, a reading, a tarot play?

Noone's ever not helpless

To knock at the witch's door, dead and reckless.

And look at Macbeth, the lord of those men astray,

They'd told him the truth after all, hadn't they?

But alas, its always the witch to blame,

But do understand, no need fulfilled is in altruism.

For if you come here with ambitions to fulfil,

I'll surely not worsen the shambles.

But do remember, oh so brave traveller,

Under the mountain of these favours,

Would you be able to pay,

What we ask, just and fair?

Well, that's altogether your take,

For desperation knows no price,

And justice knows no excuse.

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