A Lady of Precision Rage

A Lady of Precision Rage

A lady of precision rage in a house that she rebuilt,
she’s the lullaby of murder, the original crimson bride,
and if you hear her counting steps–there’s nowhere left to hide.
The floorboards squeak in rhymes, the walls can’t keep the screams,
and anyone who sleeps there wakes in someone else’s dreams.
The axe? Still missing. The motive? Thin. The girl? Still walks the hall,
and when she whispers “Father, please”–you’re answering the call.
They say innocence is priceless, but Lizzie paid in blood,
and silence became her anthem as her legacy became the flood.
Lizzie Borden wore white gloves, but her hands still drip with guilt.