And who is this dark lady, may I ask?
How does she ensnare so many a soul?
Do her cold pale fingers ever truly let go
Of her prey so weak and vulnerable?
Does she have any kind intentions in her heart,
Or doth a heart she not even possess.
Does she merely hunt for the joy of success,
Or keep her wounded as trophies of war?
Those who claim to have escaped her grasp, always return to her keep.
She owns every waking moment of their lives
So she doth not let them sleep.
They fight her with all of their power,
They climb every mountain and tower,
Searching for a one who will set them free.
But she weighs them down with chains
claiming them as property.
Some days she gives them a hope that they can happiness find,
But when they seize opportunity's hand
She uses dark powers of the mind
To halt them dead in their tracks
And weed out wishes from facts.
She drowns them in pools of shame and sorrow.
She shows them the pain they're forced to hold
And wraps them in regrets heavy as a blanket of gold.
She tells them there's no escape and stabs them with her knife.
She leans in close to their ear and whispers softly,
"It is I, lady loneliness, who will evermore own your life."
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