Leslie Ann Merrimac had bruises all around her neck And a silver trail of latch-hooks down her back Strings of pearls tied to each Tethered to her husband's reach She seldom felt a slack upon her leash
As a child she gathered critters large and small Built devices for dismembering them all
It began in '91, when Leslie Ann was rather young Her father had passed on and she moved out to Bloomington Feeling desperate and alone She thought she had found love In the strong but silent, somewhat violent preacher's eldest son
He was a monster With a ghoulish overbite Raised a hand to her To keep her wandering eye in line
Leslie Ann Merrimac dressed head to toe in funeral black Never shared her loving husband's bed Slept in corners standing upright As he gripped the pearls tight Pains splashed down her spine through out the night
He would beat her As his father had done to him With a leather strap Left rosy welts across her chest
Leslie Ann Merrimac woke to find her husband dead One winter's eve he passed on in his sleep Rigor mortis had set in And while struggling from his grip Bent a hook and in her spine, broke off a pin
Pearls rained down Bounced along the hardwood floor A frosty numb crept in And her eyes fell closed once more
On a cemetery hill Along a row of pines She was buried by her loving husband's sideTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.