Once

Once, when I was dead,

And lying still upon a dirty bed,

A hag went through my clothes

Her fingers cracked and dryer than a bone,

I screamed (but just in my head)

This corpse which lay upon a farmers bed,

But my watch, my wallet was gone;

She was deceived and disappointed at every turn,

A battle - thats what had passed,

And me just a footsoldier killed in the mud,

With a hole next to my heart;

At least thats what it seemed like just at the start,

But the hole was filled by her hand

As she groped around for something she could take,

I guess, the spoils of war

Should just lie back and then complain no more,

So this - could this be the key?

To my general sexual inability -

To feel, the victim of theft

And me without a heart left in my chest