Charlotte Dymond

Searching for Charlotte Dymond,
Who's lover stole her life,
He stole something so perfect
By just one slip of a knife,

Her cold and lifeless body,
Laying still as white as snow,
Like ice to the touch,
And no sign of life to show,

I see her in the distance,
Entwined in the reeds,
Death carved into her throat,
Her blood covering the weeds,

Innocence running in the river,
Disguising itself as blood,
As I stare at her broken body,
Her Sunday beads left in the mud,

Her eyes as hollow as death,
Her death as hollow as her soul,
Where the blade ran its evil course,
And left its signature hole,

Her life washed away by the stream,
But stolen by her lover,
Her innocence portrayed,
By her sin of loving another,

Her skin now a painting of blood,
From where her life was cut away for good,
Not even god could save her now,
Even though he would if he could,

She lays silent as the night,
While it's Blisland that she seeks,
But going down to hell,
Is the fate chosen by Matthew Weeks,

He left stains on her pure skin,
From were her tears did flood,
Putting her were she'll sleep for the last time,
Crying her tears of blood.