Every tear you shed sparks a fire in my chest. I watch you as your eyes overflow with the waters of sorrow. The sounds of your sobbing As his casket lowers down below. I have to hide my cold hearted grin.

Why should you expect less from me? When I lost my beloved You couldn’t be bothered turning up. No card, no flowers, no phone call. Nothing, not even a word of sympathy. Your true colours nailed to the mast.

So now the dish of my revenge is served. Each tear you cry is my ambrosia. Of course it’s my brother So I should feel something! I do, I feel happy. His death was my best work yet.