There once were two sleazy old maids
Who lived in a house once refined.
Their treasures still sharp, rusty blades
Meant to stab, prod, push as designed.

Relentless pleas, ignored with anger,
Young corpses, boxed, bent enshrined.
Each maid had a favourite hanger
And used towels left quickly behind.

Tools of the trade as some would say;
Tools designed to hook and snare,
To pull each child from dark to day
To end before a breath of air.

Lost dreams replaced by brutal wails,
As screams become a source for tales
Of bloody deeds done to those who dread
The tools of those who make things DEAD.