the rattle of chains could
be heard far down
in the bowels of this old
castle, belonging once to
a horrible old man
grey wrinkled eyes like red coals
ages long ago, he chained
young men and women
for his perverted pleasure
none dared to stand up
and call him out
it was said he ran with
the very devil himself
but when he died
it was slow and he was begging
God for forgiveness
noone still goes below
and on nights when the wind howls
its told one can hear his maniacle laughter, still
