The Devil's Spawn

Let me tell you the story of Mrs Parker and her spouse
Which plays in a small village where we find the Parker's house.

Trapped inside there is a little boy
Who is treated like their special toy.

Poor Little Tom, that is the name
Which is engraved on the cold chain

Which connects his body to the wall;
And did one know, the message would sprawl,

Torches be lit and the Parkers go to jail,
But no one knows of their profanity stale.

And so poor Little Tom, he knows no light.
Every hope he seeds dies to blight.

Indeed, there is but one question to ask:
What secret do the Parkers hide behind their mask

To hide Little Tom in darkness, their only son?
Why would they not let him see the sun?

I shall give you the answer, but please be warned
That after hearing it, your faith may be harmed,

For Little Tom is not Henry Parker's son,
He's the Devil's spawn, and it has only begun.

Soon, soon, the world will have changed
Into a dark place; cruel and estranged,

Should Poor Little Tom ever escape the chains
Which keep the Devil's blood from flowing through his veins.

Should Tom die, the world would remain the same.
The Devil's a gambler, and this is his favourite game.

Playing with the fears and love of the family,
The Devil draws strength from their sanity.

That at least is why Little Tom lays in chains.
For us to hope is that he always remains

In the cold, dark place which should be his grave,
That the Parkers stay strong and brave.

If they do, this story ends like many.
The good prevails of course, and if any

Then Poor Little Tom will live all right.
And would that not be to your delight?

Unfortunately, this is not how this story goes,
And for reasons which Laura Parker only knows

She is the one who breaks the curse
When she reaches deep down into her purse,

Drawing a kitchen knife with silver blade
Which reflects the face of this brave maid.

With trembling fingers she strikes at her son
Frantically crying for Tom, her only one.

Poor Little Tom died for the greater good,
So the mother should not be misunderstood.

She killed for love and not for hate.
The world's fate has a much bigger weight.

For now the world is safe and sound.
The Devil was sent back into the ground,

Where Tom now sits next to the throne
Of the father who did not bemoan

The death of his spawn, who knew but pain,
Who's name was engraved on a thick chain.

Thus is the story of poor Little Tom,
And I admit that you read it aplomb;

So fear not the Devil, for you are safe.
As long at least 'til you hit the grave,

Because then you be his little toy.
Just like Tom, his little boy.