Little Red Riding Hood did not have a grandmother
The wolf she encountered was actually her stepfather
Disguised as her grandmother, you see?
Her grandmother was not sick; her stepfather was sick
Need I tell you how he was sick? – mentally, my child
These are Fables From the Bedside for the Terrified Mind

Cinderella did not lead a happy life
It was till her early dying day full of sorrow and strife
Shoved down into the soot and cinders where she dwelled
Haven’t you heard that’s why Cinderella she was called?
Prince Charming did not come for her that day;
He could not bother with a poor maidservant anyway
Her slipper fell and smashed and she walked on its broken glass
The shards showed a pretty picture of her face, and were swept up fast

Tell me more, mother
I want to know
Yes, my child, and you shall know
These are my Fables of Truth, From the Bedside

Snow White was a wicked girl
Black ebony hair, wide, gleaming eyes
Never did a word slip from her cherry-red lips that was not a lie
And she was not awakened with a kiss, oh no; she did die
These are my Fables for the Terrified Mind

A lesson is contained in every story
I’ll look into your eyes every morning
And see my terror and darkness reflected there
My fear of the world in your empty stare
I hollow them out, I fill them up again,
With beautiful, terrible tales, which I lend
Goodbye, my child, have sweet nightmares
Defy my fables if you dare