// There's a finger in the meat pie, And a tooth beneath the crust. The cook calls it a family recipe, Vlad grinned, "The marrow is a must." ("Seconds, anyone?") Come hungry, come thirsty, come one and all, There's wine and a feast awaiting. Bloody aprons on marble floors, Fresh-cut meat and food galore. A little tongue, a severed thumb, Vlad purred, "There's more to come." "Have you eaten?" "Yes, my lord!" "How's the tenderloin?" "Divine!" "Would you care for something more?" “Oh, Your Highness, I'll take nine!” Eat, my darling, eat your fill! Take it slow, there's plenty still. You shall never hunger again, Never beg for bread again. Take a bite, enjoy the view, Someone's getting close to you. The prince is kind, the prince is good, He'll salt your wounds, just as he should. (Ooh, what a lovely night!) (Ooh, every bite's just right!) The butcher came with silver trays, The fiddler played, the candles blazed. A roasted joint, a glazed surprise, The prince said, "Darling, try the thighs." An old man asked, "What meat is this?" The prince leaned close and blew a kiss. "A local breed, quite hard to find.” “We've kept his heart for Valentine's.” "Would you be free of misery?" "Oh, my lord, eternally!" "Of hunger, cold, and endless need?" "Forever, sire!" they agreed. He smiled and said, "Then stay with me. Tonight, my loves, I'll set you free." CLICK went the bolt CLACK went the chain The fiddler stopped The flames began A woman cried, "Where is my son?" Vlad cooed, “Darling, you’ve had one.” (Ooh, it's getting hot) (Ooh, the roof's about to drop!) The goblets shattered on the floor, A hundred fists beat on the door. The rafters cracked, the benches burned, The tables fell, the guests overturned. The prince raised up his glass of red: "To all my guests, so warmly fed!" Eat, my darling, eat your fill! The prince has kept his promise still You shall never hunger again, (Never beg for bread again) Take a bite, enjoy the view, Someone's getting close to you. No need to run, no need to hide, We'll keep you warm all through the night. No more beggars at my gate, No more mouths to feed or hate. No more shivering in the rain, No more pleading, no more pain. "Your Highness! Open up the door!" "But darling, what are you begging for?" "The fire, sire! The fire!" I believe that's called flambé. No more hunger, no more pain, You'll never beg for bread again. No more winter, no more cold, No more hands stretched out for gold. One hundred corpses neatly laid, Behold the mercy I have made! By royal grace, the poor are fed, And all their troubles now are dead (Ooh, what a lovely night!) (Ooh, every bite's just right!) Darling... I believe we're all well done.
