Voodoo For: Viola Grey Poem by Saint Cynosure

Burlap sack,
twist of hay.
Chicken blood,
some words to say.
Puff of smoke,
cast of lot,
and this little bit of hair Ive got.
Sew the doll in a certain way,
its voodoo for: Viola Grey.
I wish I could be there to see,
has I choke the doll and she cant breath.
And the pain in her head that makes her cry,
as I jam these pins behind her eyes.
She cant make them go away,
its voodoo for: Viola Grey.
For she does not know how to love,
and has nothing good to say.
So I will break her spirit down,
and leave her feeling pain.
As I twist and turn this doll around,
she wont enjoy the way I play.
Thats the price that she will pay,
its voodoo for: Viola Grey.