Her look would turn a man to stone. As proof of that,
she surrounded herself with the cold, gray faces of men.
Whether sunrise or sunset this beast of old, would watch
and wait for new prey, called man, to stumble upon her
sight. For that alone would turn a mortal man to stone.
There was no beauty in this ones dark smile, only evil
and cunning. She was patience and willing to wait till
some unsuspecting soul passed her way.
So come with me and I will take you to her lair,
through pictures and imagination catch a glimpse her
essence. Surrounded by remnants, of bodies that used to
be called men, she slithers and rattles and hisses in
delight. Here to be with these broken stones of men, she
calls home, here is where she loves. Day in and day
out, with only herself and her squirming head dress of
snakes to keep her company tomorrow comes and
tomorrows goes. Oh, let me not forget these stone, cold
face of the men left in her path, these men of no feeling
can touch, no feeling can know.
to see, to hear and many other tails to be told.
For with monsters there is always the sequels to be told, and with
monsters there are always dreams to be dreamed.
I hope yours are pleasant and peaceful.
I hope my monsters don't give you the creeps.
Or maybe I do...
mahahahahaahhahahahahahahahahahhah
