'tis good to welcome
the dance of d**h!'
words of the crow
barrator doeth speak.
as the sacrificial
lamb lies down
to sleep.
their sharpened scimitar
glistens as it rents
the misty morn.
slashing and baring,
ripping and tearing,
opening the deadened wound.
darkened lava
from the spent vessel flows
onto the blackened
glistening highway
of d**hs intent.
its life force
completely spent.