Trailer For My Next Piece Of Headcanon

There was a gloomy donkey, who lived a gloomy life
He had three gloomy children beside his gloomy wife

He lived upon a gloomy yard and worked his gloomy trade
By digging lots of gloomy graves with just his gloomy spade

But then one gloomy evening within that gloomy yard
The donkey dug a grave so deep it dug up something hard

All clean and pale and beautiful with pretty, pearly teeth
A pair of mighty curling horns but what lay underneath?

The donkey, not so gloomy, he dug and delved and sought
But after three long nights outside, his search availed him naught

His gloomy yard was ruined and when the town awoke
Their dead were scattered ‘cross the soil, their gloomy gravestones broke

They cried and cursed and threw some stones and took his gloomy spade
They swore he’d never work again but he was not dismayed

They’d let him keep the pretty thing, he kept it by his bed
But all the while, his wife and kids were wailing for their bread

His life was gloomy once again and this he could not bear
Trapped with naught but fuss and noise, he fell into despair

Day by day his family would beg and moan and shriek
But then one night, the pretty thing at last began to speak

‘I’ve never had a friend’ it said ‘But I’d quite like to try it.
We can talk all day and night but first I’d like some quiet.’

‘Of course, my friend’, he answered, and took it to the cellar
His wife would ask ‘how long’ and ‘why’ and naught would make him tell her.

‘Your friend is making you bizarre’ she said one evening dinner
‘Tomorrow I shall sell it off to stop us getting thinner’

The gloomy, gloomy donkey sincerely disagreed
He grabbed a nearby carving knife and did a bloody deed

And when the deed was finished there was silence in the room
As cool and calm and peaceful as a pretty little tomb

A tomb made for a donkey’s friend which spoke and laughed and said
‘Go and get some sharpened knives, some meat-hooks and some thread’

‘Your life is too repetitive, that’s why it seems a trial
So be a brand new donkey with a brand new pretty style’

And so, he made himself a cloak with all the nearby hide
And wore it all about the town so glad to be outside

But in that gloomy town, it’s said, they saw his pretty cloak
They said ‘He should be locked up tight, away from gentle folk’

They took his pretty bloody cloak and then they took his friend
He cried and begged and snarled but still it came to no good end

They threw him in a gloomy cell beneath that gloomy town
The donkey could not stand the place and could not settle down

But just there in the corner of that gloomy, ugly cell
The donkey found a pretty thing...A little silver bell

Comments

[Bronycommander]

Sounds good to me!