by Nick Gisburne
With every penny, David buys a thought
He pulls them from the pocket of his coat
But if the shiny coin is ever caught
A fool will find a dagger at his throat
Poor David has no appetite for pain
A murderer manipulates his mind
The pennies are a pestilence, profane
His mother, steeped in sorcery, designed
Corrupting David’s innocence for spite
She mutilates the mindless with her blade
The coins are always burnished, always bright
But tainted with her sick, sadistic shade
If David throws a coin for you to catch
Remember what his mother seeks to snatch
