Bewitched by hexes, you've been spelled to death:
like Edgar Allan Poe, belled, belled to death.

Your eyes, they scrutinize a sacred page
in Celtic lettering. Book-of-Kelled to death?

Rhymes drench your eardrums from the nursery:
little-lambed, farmer-in-the-delled to death.

On Cupid's bow, how are my heart-strings bent:
O Stella! I've been Astrophelled to death.

This poor wino drinks on the cheap, yup,

by the gallon. Muscatelled to death!

Starting earlier every year -- Halloween? really? –

Christmas cards in stores. Noël'd to death.

Her mind was a victim of glossy magazines:
Cosmo'd, Vogued, and Mademoiselled to death.

Talk-radio addicts binge on verbal bilge:
bickered, shrilled, harangued, and yelled to death.

The sheets grow heavy as a lecher's kiss.

Alas, poor Sylvia! Arielled to death.

If I were a rich man, dibby-dibby-dum ...
you'd find yourselves Zero Mostel'd to death!

Like Terence Trent D'Arby in 1988,
a weary world's been Wishing-Well'd to death.

Ground Control to not-so-Major Tom:
where's the Rocket Man? Jet-propelled to death.