Oh, Samuel Deane

There isn't much to say

about Samuel Deane;

he was quiet and scheming,

vengeful and mean

With hair like sand

and a tongue like snow,

besides his demeanor,

like I said,

there's not much to know

I met him once,

just the one time,

and oh, Samuel Deane

was silent as a mime

I didn't fret,

I didn't groan,

instead I said,

"Oh, Samuel Deane

you will always be alone...

With your hair like sand,

and your tongue like snow,

your unwavering stance,

and your lengthy torso;

Your golden lobe,

and your emerald eyes,

You won't see your soul through its wistful demise

Well, I don't know about that

and I'll admit it, too

but oh, Samuel Deane

you're not one to pride what is true

But your stone will pronounce

all that was unsaid,

and unfortunately for you

both you and your words

will be dead."