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Slayer

by Jon-Jacob F Deal

Think you anything that sense makes?
Everything playgame maybe-maybe?
Ken you even the fucking words
From your mewly maw a-tumble?
Neck off, neck off, vampire of logic
Lest I rest your everspiral!
Fetch my vorpal runic blade that
I might pierce your helter-skelter
Cleave your pulseless throat asunder
Stuff your whyhow face with garlic
Kickshut the jaw and light-you-pretty
Til ashes
Are ashes
Are ashes
Are ashes
Are ashes
Are ashes
And washed away.

05/26/2004

Posted on 05/26/2004
Copyright © 2024 Jon-Jacob F Deal

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