Manslaughter

Up on a hill,
There stands a house.
Outside stands a woman,
With blood on her blouse.
She just stands there,
With a knife in her hand.
All the people she’s slain,
Buried in the sand.
Then there’s a path,
That leads to the sea.
She drowns them at night,
So no one else sees.
She keeps a rope,
Hidden in a drawer.
A collapsible platform,
So they can’t reach the floor.
There’s an ax that she uses,
To chop off their head.
Then she hides the bodies,
Underneath her bed.
All the people she’s killed,
In numbers greater than ten.
All of those people,
All those innocent men.
Maybe it was her husband,
Who she put to the chair.
They had a horrible fight,
He pulled out her hair.
But no charges for manslaughter,
No one thinks it’s her fault.
Her house never being searched,
Never being caught.