Where the Floorboards Creak

Softly now,
Or else she might hear.

Don’t talk now,
Or else the wild ones might know.

Better to not move,
For the mayor’s nearby.

Quietly sift,
This grain isn’t your own!

Blood red images of taken
Bread and salt shaker
I didn’t go fast enough
To escape the mess talking
Along a valley cliff
Trees opened close to me
On both sides they ran
On my mind we screamed
And I take and I can’t
But it wasn’t me, that bread
Salt shaker quilt cranny
A cranberry for the nook
The snout is bright blood red!

“You thief!” he yelled,
And I knew he wasn’t wrong.