Anthology of Shallot I

The Demon of Shallot
Was highly strung a lot
His waist was tight
His grip would bite
A hole out of the top.

The Demon in all leather
Covered face, but felt a feather
Ever so delicately
Tickle him to see
If his senses were as clever.

The Demon was a mystery
His brain and voice fine chemistry
Some men would scream
A bloodshed dream
Be knived in hope of sanity.

The Demon of Shallot
A hole in pant forgot
Broken leather
'Thank God'
We have pleather
Now, stitch it or be shot.