Grimwood Scribes
Outside a fortress Citadel
Hangs an iron chain that rings a bell
All those that slowly pull the chain
Will enter Grimwood Scribes domain
For at a desk by candle fire
Is the Lord of Grimney mire
He has a mighty intellect
But that won’t earn him our respect
For he is a man who loathes the poor
So tortures them through wicked law
Counting coins from a callous tax
Whilst the fire melts the candle wax
Now and then his mouth will drip
From his drooling bottom lip
As yellow dances in his eyes
He forgets the suffering poor man’s cries
Scribes is a man of hefty bulk
And behind his desk he likes to skulk
Encased in armour with a flowing cape
That will never ever conceal his shape
Every now and then his voice will bellow
As he curses a servant or some other fellow
All who know him live in fear
Of this twisted man so insincere..
