| Don't, decay, just disturb the Demon, dare, to search the mind, the ravaging mental state that saves the ill. Compare, the cold wind, to your every whim, share the bloody broken body that hangs by one limb. Legless and headless, the cross you where causes those who shun the priest and nuns into a stare. Rape the single ones lost inside the shelter made for Sinners, Winners aren't around, no one to hold, no hope for love, Death and destruction, creeping into the very sleep you crave. Inside out, turn the stones over, look under, the tomb stones, and flip the martyr onto his back, slit his wrist, lay him in a bed of dirt, cover him softly in a blanket of soil. Now wait for the Tempremental mortal to Boil in simmering blood and blackend oil. |
