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Best Irony Poems

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Details | Irony Poem | |

Devils Deadly Dime

Devils deadly dime

The sign said no grown-up at the playground.
Tripping on a penny, like a mime!
My hand is in my pocket with the dime I found.
Its all mine, I asked for the devils hand that time.
Echoes in my head, bounded by a screaming sound.
Paying for a forgotten crime,
on what comes around goes around.

A prison with greed that carries an evil musical chime.
Jumping off the merry-go-round!
Encouraged by the devil,
 the pleasure of his deadly nursery rhyme. 
Now the world is measured by my blood level.

The devils delight feasted on my youth before I hit my prime.
Bashing my mind, with thoughts implanted by evil.
Entering the day with no beauty to my sublime.
Begging him to remove this anvil!

He laughed while he cursed me with a favor for a favor.
A fallout so violently in this world not civil.
One can only lust on the taste that only he can savor.
Hanging out  by the swings wounding me with prey,
on two victims to his delicious flavor.
I climb my way to teach a lesson in hate not love.
Two siblings who always scream for each other.
Giggling as I offered each a push and a shove.
Stopping they give each other a big hug.
Defeating and proving love is a stronger disease
The devil wicked eyes looking  at me like a bug.
Clawing at my inner guts with remorse that he will win this war.
Until another day one skips the penny, 
and begs a poor fool like the devil for his dime.
Tossing heads for his tail when times hits rock bottom.
I will stray away from his deadly reaction time.
He will not own my soul so freak'em,
and his greedy deadly beg of a dime.


by;pd

Details | Irony Poem | |

The Joy Killing Poet

**Back smile/smile Back **

With your heads way up your :]ssa[: 
You will never accomplish the win
I got shots that will protect me from your rabid ways
After you fell into a non-stop falling disease, 
Your movements weakened
Straight from a dried up well, 
Every day you frolic in a disorder that causes more brain damage 
With progressive mental retardation 
You continue to lick the top of your cleft lips

He is the saddest sadist human that ever lived!
So sad he has to live with himself every night
Kissing his young ones Goodnight 
In ways I can't even breathe to tell
The way he follows rabbits down the bunny hole
Killing each laughing hare
Wiping smiles, leaning in, 
The madness in Alice's Wonderland 
Madder and Madder The Hatter
Revealing
Your boldness is nothing more than baldness
A man in a monkey suit
Molesting the minds of his idiotic circle, 
Trying to kill the joy, not knowing
We don't care about his false Harvard WAY
I rather stay here dropping out, than pretending
Following his made-up perception, a cropped out waste
His taste, my best copypaste, he jacked on
A stench, they left behind when open mouths laugh
He educates by attacking women better than his own
Silently to the top of his knife, he stalks nakedly
Removing a few poems he plagiarized
His Poorness, brought many to donate to the salvation of his army
Sadness Delivered by the Joy Killing Poet and his little pigs

Cross My heart and hope to die!!!

~SKAT~

Details | Irony Poem | |

The Unknown

-"x+2 = 4"-

Enigmas of the soul
Do you know how it feels?

Never tasted before
Invisible Sun


PD

Details | Irony Poem | |

You and I and I and You

You, who are so perfect in my eyes, so beautiful- adorable, and I, so flawed, ugly, damaged and crawling with defects; why do you enjoy my company? 

You, who are so sleek and slender, humming with a quiet intellect and a serenity about you, and I, so grossly overweight and pretentiously boastful and nervous; how can you abide my company?

You, who are a paragon of patience, so understanding and self-assured, and I, so insanely impulsive, so myopic and brimming with self-doubt; how do you stand my company?

You, who are so sweet, so considerably kind, so thoughtful and generous, and I, so bitter, so selfish, so self-absorbed; why do you choose my company?

You, who are so self-composed, full of self-control, so sound and stable, and I, so very neurotic, so completely compulsive and verily volatile; how can you tolerate my company?

You, who are so diligent, so driven and ambitious, so achieving, and I, so lackadaisically lazy, so uninspired, so complacent; why do you settle for my company?

You, who are ethical, so moral, so very virtuous, and I, so corrupt, so unprincipled, so wholly wicked; how can you endure my company?

You, who are so normal, so well-adjusted, so conventional, and I, so maniacal, so unbalanced and irrational; why do you condone my company?

You, who are bubbling with charm, who loves unconditionally and is absolutely accepting, and I, boiling with rage, fueled by misanthropy and incredibly intolerant; how can you welcome my company?

That you love and accept me for who and what I am, is a treasure beyond measure. I cherish your company, but why you cherish mine is something I cannot fathom. All I know is that I love you, my dear, beloved friend.

**This was written for two very dear friends: Karen and Tommy :)
***I also love palindromes ;)

*****FREE VERSE OLD AND NEW ENTRY

Details | Irony Poem | |

NO CONTEST

I worked through the day and the night Got the syllables and spelling just right My imagery was ‘simply divine’ I hoped that a placement was mine Got awarded the Poem of the Day ‘Congratulations’ the folks they did say I sat back and relaxed in my chair At my perfect poem I did sit and stare I was really so proud of my work Saw the winners… felt a right jerk My eyes scanned down the winner’s list There was an error - my name had been missed! My Members Contest list was showing N/A Guess it really just wasn’t my lucky day 12~22~14 Contest:-Contest – Jerry T Curtis

Details | Irony Poem | |

of love of war

of love of war
the staff of a prophet, seen fairness not imagine, sings shouting out, obscenity recognized, yet in search of fame, seeking stance the moment arises, seek of voice of power, godsend renown supremacy, yet prophet not acknowledged, kept desire of a great life, sought skill of voice, articulate hardly ever, cheek no longer free, famous self seldom bite snarls dogma, link of country of faith, kinship all that’s true, fair play desired fame acknowledged, pent the home front, covetousness war or peace love or hate, just yelp puppy love, nice _________________________| Penned on September 28, 2014!

Details | Irony Poem | |

A Want To Climb

One day I started climbing; without question I climbed. Until finally I had reached the peak of Mt. Everest. I wanted to beat my breastbone yell like Tarzan King of the Apes. But... I saw a tree. IT! was the highest peak. I climbed. “Ta da"! But... there was an escarpment, higher. I climbed. Once again I... But... Stairs, stairs at the end of the land. I climbed Reached the top of the stairs. But... I saw a huge bird. “I can go higher” I told myself. I reached up with my arms, miraculously the bird accepted my hands. We reached the space beyond Earth's pull; there my magical friend released me. I kept floating up until I reached a tunnel in space, a hole on an incline that led up. I climbed! For an eternity, maybe longer. The higher I got... nothing. An enormous amount of nothing. I was going nowhere and I was doing it in record time. Then... Then I stopped. I mean I hit the brakes, reflected on my journey. The wildlife? Had I done damage? The escarpment? What was the vegetation, were there flowers? I should of gone barefoot felt the land under my feet; smelled the coffee. Were those really stairs I climbed? Was it friends and associates I was stepping on? I opened my eyes. The climb was like trying to walk to the end of the horizon. All leading to more vast “I don’t know what” but definitely up. “No!” I said aloud. “So what!” I whispered. So... I slid down the best slide you ever saw. I felt like a child again, I could see, smell, feel and hear, I could taste the sweetness of freedom in the air. I love sweets. So... Now, back to my land I plant myself firmly. I am one with all, a Giant Redwood surrounded by other Redwoods. I am at peace. Here, at the bottom of everything is my highest point. I bask in the heat of the sun. Feed from the richness of the land. Drink the cold water gifted to me by the skies above. What an incredible sense of strength I feel comfortable in my own bark. Just happy to be rooted. Now... I am the smallest tree But... growing. Fulfilled, satisfied just “to be”!
09/20/2014

Details | Irony Poem | |

Vitrine-mannequin on a Winter night I

Mannequin

Dependent was and amorous obsession 5.5
in burning desert, fresh canteen 4
his sidewalk's fantasy and thoughts' digression, 5.5
the strongest coffee's roasted bean 4
(their phantasms met beyond projectors' light). 5

Exquisite stood upfront, unmoving posture,
distressing emptiness of soul,
unreachable resort her sightly stature,
(- expending skies and ozone hole),
prêt à porter vitrine, on Winter's night.

Behind the glass, a still and standing shadow
abates his hopes (gray sky suspends),
( he takes his foolish stance of wooden scarecrow,
- that through odd sprawls the fields attends ),
was she the blessing of the Gods or else?...

His allegorical, but lonely feeling,
instilled inside, without defect,
while speechless phantoms crossed sky's ceiling,
the downpour soaked, warmth to reject,
(ersatz their wedlock's knolling, fast dispels).

Her uppish, elegant of stance, adjacent,
within arm's reach, kind of abstruse,
albeit abstained, of secular indulgence,
(his head acquired a tilt obtuse),
invited him through faultless, charming lies.

A brass trumpet dispersed its jazzy spieling,
he, thoughtless, leaned on some red booth,
adored her raised one hand's refined appealing,
(- that altruistic, smiling tooth!),
and gazing to the stars but vacant eyes!...

© G.V. 11-16-2013, All Rights Reserved

(Iambic Quintain following 5.5, 4, 5.5, 4, 5 feet on each stanza. 
The rhyme scheme follows this pattern: 
ABABC DEDEC, FGFGH, IJIJH ... and so on.)
(Allegory, Humor)


Details | Irony Poem | |

Struggle

I don't want to die,
But my mind feels old;
My body is so tired
And my heart grows cold;
Hands itch to slice--
Just the skin--just the skin,
Blood flows out as the pain seeps in.
They wanna give me pills
To treat a pain they haven't seen;
They try to cure the symptoms
Without knowing what it means,
To pick apart my brain
Without dirtying their hands,
While I drown in a sorrow
That I can't understand,
While unhelpful friends throw
Such unhelpful advice:
"Stop feeling sad!"
"Think of things that are nice!"
Meanwhile I wish
for an end to the pain. 
I don't need any pills--
Just send me a train.

Details | Irony Poem | |

Saving McGee

Now down at our local pub
I noticed McGee at the bar
So I pulled up a chair, A bit unaware
That he was a bit under par

He said to me "Last night, 
I tried to take me own life
I wanted to end my misery
In this world full of struggle and strife

So, I started to take a thousand pills, 
and wash them down with wine
but after the second aspirin 
I started to feel just fine

Details | Irony Poem | |

No Deposit, No Return


Your wishes can't regain,
A thrill so long ago. 
To once again reclaim 
A past you wouldn't know. 

You view a different dance, 
With unfamiliar tune 
You pine for lost romance, 
Yet treasure not the Moon.




Meter - Iambic Trimeter (Cataletic).
A-B, A-B Rhyme.
 
Gene Bourne.
06-11-14




.

 

Details | Irony Poem | |

These bare walls

On these bare walls 
there once hung
artwork that was picked by you,
which you'd then picked over,
leaving only a needlepoint 
your mother made for our wedding 
and a picture an alcoholic friend gave you
of a bear

How ironic now, 
it seems, they're not so bare
since I've hung a painting of
dancing bears on the bare wall where 
I took down the needlepoint
and a butterfly, 
in the bare spot you left
by the front door

Details | Irony Poem | |

A Mid-October's Letter

I was up before dawn, which comes later now
And I who, a month or two ago
Would sit with a Kona Blend coffee every morning
Watch every light as I walk down every hill
To the edge of my pond and other places
Then I see a doe standing there, shyly drinking.

Then I see the light thus view upon
The stillness water, illustrates-reflections
Unto both sides of my ceramic garden
Of fallen leaves from trees, that grew as if by magic-
The luminous reflection upon my lavish face
Is mirrored by the darkness, simply pale and odd.

As I have been startled by time; while I slept,
Into the night in its thick winter jacket
Simply does view the bridles doe with a firm twist
Of an insurmountable wet leaves and purely led away,
Then memories thus brought its black horse with its harness
That seemingly creaked like a cricket and turned.

Into the glistening water garden under
Then I awoke at the inviting window thus found
the curtains were invitingly open upon my face;
As if beyond me, darkness, upon this night
I only wished to keep dreaming of looking out,
Must I be enthralled with just keep looking in?

Written: Oct. 18, 2014
Eve T.M.Carter

Details | Irony Poem | |

Across the Void

a man and a woman
lucky in love and precious
fate walked in and kissed them both
kisses wet, sloppy, thirsty
from an unplanned tenderness
romance fluttered
love came next there was no doubt
their chemistry delicious
played one off the others substantial
in the beginning of her purring
on purpose as fate
walked them down the primrose blushing
passion concentrated and gifted
translovely dream cooing
across the abyss
separating them from their naughty
they talked of love needful
secrets were confessed fragile
vowed to leave the past behind
shredded and troubled
their bond will be sewn husky
he closes his eye tender
she holds out her attractive
together they are damaged

Details | Irony Poem | |

The birds

The birds! The birds!

Uncountable the subject pronoun words
give tongue to humbleness, henceforth to speak;
contributing to poetry for birds,
our inspiration nested on their beak!

He's watching leaping sparrows eating bread,
while on his terrace sips green Ceylon chai;
it seems to him that poetry has fled,
and gone with the banditos, bidding "byee".

Alas! The birds have taught us all we know,
encyclopedic, scientific, art...
Cause he would not be 'mong ya apropos,
if poetry was meant to be more smart:

{ Thy Tristan I shall be, divine Izolde;
thus, like a bird of valor, debonair,
I'll fly to thee, because I have been told,
that someday I'll become a billionaire.

Among the birds, oh maid, I picture thee
abducted by banditos (or eloped?)
thus I, compose my poetry to be
reminder of the corns that have not popped.

And thus, envisioning, thy magic curves,
I'll be a triumphant filibustier,
my self-igniting foolish verse, and oeuvres,
will reach (oh, dolly bird) thy round derriere.

And then, if not for other, thus, demand,
my manuscripts will serve a strident cause,
vociferous upon the meadowland,
by the banditos will receive applause. }
 
© 02-18-2014, G. Venetopoulos
(Iambic Pentameter)
G.V.

Details | Irony Poem | |

Jogger and Logger

For "Show Me the Funny (part two)"

There once was a fellow a woggin'*
Who bumped into one who was loggin'
They had quite a spat
The ax was a bat
And the first had a lump on his noggin


* Woggers are those who get all dressed for jogging, but only go at walking speed, while vigorously pumping their arms to delude themselves that they are jogging.

Details | Irony Poem | |

Confession of a silent Artist

Creative writers are never given flowers while they still breathing poetry.

Biters wait patiently for the last breath to pay their respect and get paid with your work.

Claiming being sent by callings to keep the legend's work alive till infinity.

No doctor has the cue for this sick world.

But guess what we writers do care.

We keep writing spiritually we don't care.

Atleast i don't care, i know you'll be speaking my language with your theft.

Evidently i do share.

You are that invisible disciple i recruited to speak for me in my death.

It's the life of an artist who cares.

We don't seek recognition.

Recognition come to us that's why we endlessly spread.

We are angels with no wings heaven is closer to us we don't fly.

Paradise is home for holidays filled with dead writers.

An escapism from you hooligans.

Its a crime not a mime when you speak rhyme in my rhymes.

Thank God i'm still an infant in this poetry, i have a chance to fill up the grave you dug for me.

Your patience will have to patiently await my departure patiently.

I have enough time to unleash these constipated rhymes.

You think you got me.

I speak better in my rhymes like a machinegun tone spraying pee.

My skeleton is covered in mics louder i do speak rhythmic bones.

My skeleton is made out of cables transporting poetic stones.

My soul will be kept in your brain's museum.

There i said it.

Ye i meant it.

Details | Irony Poem | |

Interalphabetnet sex stew



Primose path leads to the slaughter of American
dream delete pause proficiency with internetty
webbegone after thoughts of yahoo googleyed 
interred intracacises that shed benign capsules of
 mom entary apple pie delquiences cooling 
the soul shopping for the next alias avenue of
pointless me procurement mauling an ongoing
onerous dildodate vis a vie meme.com/me in 
an engaging omnipresence of sextext no tact
spell ckeck chicshicshakplak no sense tic tac.
Talk? Walk? Balk? Chalk? Sue? Sulk? 
Dinosaur diligence posse with the senior
gestages gestulating, we r forevre 21 and ying yang 
dung. Yes, good f ing luck with that!! Look at your 
petridish parents and see what box u check to lid close
and abscond with the lost liberal leftovers. That
is you in reverse in a few carnal years after Hilter youth
children decide to screw us as the new 
generation which skewer post present parental postulates 
to the oldster outhouse outlets so u can be "youf" free. Little
do they notknow as they cumulatively co opulate 
that they set the stooge stage for no thanx ahole actions. 
The DOS does'nt fall from the Apple tree. Leave it, 
love it, learn it while ye may, the kid crisp cosmos of
offspring social dicktates are biting at your heartbeatbit 
empty elmo enterprises. Pause parenatal prenatal
preferences prepearing perinatal persons pretasking
postnatal practices, in which you have veno papa preparation.
Think before you For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge and Analyze
your ass-incarnate initiate. Borrow berofe u basterdize, 
condomize before u copu culminate, decide before
u dicktate, envision before u envy, fail before u foil, 
grasp before u germinate, halt before u hinder, 
illuminate before u illerate, jump before u jinx, 
kill before u keep, love before u lay, meaning before
moaning, neutralize before u now, obilerate before
u ooops! presence before predicament, quit before
quake, resilience before ridiculous, sanity before
sexusensuality, thinkth before u thumpth, utilize
before u unionize, victory before victimization, we 
before want, xx nor xy, zen before zeal. Pocket 
passion files fly in the face of ruined reason residules
to the point of pronounced perplextion plagued 
prominantly with no recall references to problematic 
protocals for near north normalicies in my buckeye
life measures of simpatico silly symbiosis sublime
of mini me monophile mucous made misdemeanor
milktoast memories. Pass go, collect $200.



Details | Irony Poem | |

Irony Abounds

On an unsinkable ship’s maiden voyage it sinks
The pastor who preaches against alcohol drinks
One’s surrounded by people yet remains all alone
Confessing our sins to another sinner atones
A nation’s chief tax czar who cheats on his taxes
An animal lover hunts deer to relax
Sing praise and kill humans in the name of a God
Destroy enemies for a lasting peace we applaud.

The lifeguard fearing water who remains on dry land
American football is played with the hands
A high school track coach who's morbidly obese
The steakhouse that's owned by a vegan
A priest preaching sermons on love is a pedophile
Repeat charity builds dependence over time
Nations war against drugs while beer they endorse
Adolf Hitler’s grandmother was Jewish.

by:  Michael Wegman
date:  March 21, 2014
motif:  Philosophical

Details | Irony Poem | |

Woosh vs Zroooom--a limerick joke

A vacuum cleaner should glide
And relief from messes provide
It is quite unlike
Harley Davidson's bike
Since the dirtbag's on the inside



Author's note: Someone told me this vapid joke at work today, so I framed it as above--enjoy!

Details | Irony Poem | |

Prison

I built a fortress inside my mind,
Never to be hurt, never to be harmed,
Inside these prison walls is a beast I've unleashed.
This beast is the darkness that grips my mind, 
He control my darkest fears.
Some say he is a demon, but he is my mind.

I deserve hell.
To burn forever.Let the torment begin,
I've been chained to this wall screaming for help, 
But I've built this prison, out of my sins.
What did I do to deserve this torment?
Never to be loved, never comforted,
I hear in my head "You reap what you sow".

I've reaped devastation. This is my legacy, 
Continuing my father's sins, 
Cursed to die, but I cannot give,
I will not give in nor surrender.

My chains unlock when I step up,
My blood runs cold and black from sin.
Now for the first time I see my face
in the mirrors I've destroyed.

Details | Irony Poem | |

Vitrine-mannequin on a Winter night


Dependent was and amorous obsession 5.5
in burning desert, fresh canteen 4
his sidewalk's fantasy and thoughts' digression, 5.5
the strongest coffee's roasted bean 4
(their phantasms met beyond projectors' light). 5

Exquisite stood upfront, unmoving posture,
distressing emptiness of soul,
unreachable resort her sightly stature,
(- expending skies and ozone hole),
prêt à porter vitrine and cloudy night.

Behind the glass, a still and standing shadow
abates his hopes (the sky suspends),
( he takes his foolish stance of wooden scarecrow,
- that through odd sprawls the fields attends ),
was she the blessing of the Gods or else?...

His allegorical, but lonely feeling,
instilled inside, without defect,
while speechless phantoms crossed sky's ceiling,
the downpour soaked, warmth to reject,
(ersatz their wedlock's knolling, fast dispels).

Her uppish, elegant of stance, adjacent,
within arm's reach, kind of abstruse,
albeit abstained, of secular indulgence,
(his head acquired a tilt obtuse),
invited him through faultless, charming lies.

A brass trumpet dispersed its jazzy spieling,
he, thoughtless, leaned on some red booth,
adored her raised one hand's refined appealing,
(- that altruistic, smiling tooth!),
and gazing to the stars but vacant eyes!...

© 11-16-2013, All Rights Reserved
(Allegory-Humor)
Hellenic Quintain!
(Iambic Quintain following 5.5, 4, 5.5, 4, 5 feet on each stanza. 
The rhyme scheme follows this pattern: ABABC DEDEC, FGFGH, IJIJH ... and so on.)

Details | Irony Poem | |

Beautiful Girl Yearning Heart

I awoke one cheery summer morn
and watched the gentle breeze waft the fields of ripening corn
At once I saw the peasant girl off the common
through the branches of white cherry blossom
hurry along the cinder path up yonder hill
to labour long day at the woollen mill.

As pretty as a blessed angel
as sweet as honey from a bee
I an admirer from afar who hast never noticed me.

And in my lonely velvet covered poster bed
In placental home I idle the hours away
so wrapped up in warm repose
I dream about her every night and day.

How I long to stroke her long hair
and nuzzle my weary head at her
heaving bustling breast
and breath in her  ripening alluring womeness.

By the old coach house inn
a field of purple heady lavender grows
a place where the butterflies flirt and dance
and on a star filled moonlit night
has seen many hastened romance
How I long to lay her down
and hold her in my gentle loving hands
and to the nightingales tune
explore the surface of soft ivory
illuminated by the moon..

I left a silver heart shaped locket
and a note wrapped in a posy
upon the path for her to find
I watched as she bent down
to pick it up and looked around
hiding behind the shuttered window blinds.

But she be only a lowly peasant girl
and I a man of nobility
it breaks my love struck  heart to know
our love can never be.



Peter Dome.copyright.2014. Jan.


 

Details | Irony Poem | |

In pursuit of happy

They say that happiness is the key, 
to the best things out of all that we see. 
They are in constant pursuit, 
of the mystery that keeps them smiling, 
forgetting any bad they go through everyday. 
They keep on searching, 
running after anything promising a great journey, 
through life as they try to forget all the dreary, 
situations that befall on them constantly. 
They seek to put out the fire burning, 
deep inside their minds disturbing, 
their peace and goals they strain achieving. 
They seek the alcohol, 
drinking it all down just to quench the thirst in their souls, 
their beliefs of being happy lying at the bottom of a bottle. 
The only cure they have prescribed in their thoughts, 
taking the pain away block after block, 
taking it apart till its no more. 
Feelings of joy taking over all they do is smile, '
feelings of sorrow disappearing from deep inside,
they can feel it taking over, 
eyes full of blood none left in their brains, 
thoughts all gone they can only try to train,
their hands to hold firm the drink they placed their faith, 
in order not to miscalculate their movement when dancing, 
and end up spilling it on anybody passing. 
Their feet staggering, 
getting tired of lifting, 
the body by every passing minute. 
Alcohol meets blood now their minds are working, 
yapping all that comes to their tongues no stopping, 
no thinking just talking, 
its exciting....


till the morning, 
something is wrong his body dictating, 
nothing feels right he keep on guessing, 
looking around disturbed, 
trying to keep his eyes from focusing, 
on the light in the room curtains closed he is stressing. 
His head throbbing, 
too painful a feeling that thinking keeps him hurting.
Stomach running and that's what his feet are doing, 
running to the bathroom to release whatever is corroding, 
him inside such a horrible feeling. 
Its unbearable, 
sleep might cure it all. 
Time is all he is losing, 
energy is the only thing he needs to be gaining. 
Dirty and hungry, 
but the thought of food makes him worry, 
he needs energy but not food, such irony.
The task left to the blood to detox itself, how funny,
that it keeps him alive and he fills it with trash,
is it worth it?
Does it really make him happy?

Details | Irony Poem | |

The anomaly of irony.

Rolling through a bloody mess,
my master died alone no less.
His mercy was indeed a lie,
he said I lived but now will die.

His hand was swift with a mighty stroke,
within a thought my life was broke.
Oh how I lived, and he knew not,
but now I lay...my life to rot.

No foot, nor hand could move a limb,
Three days old and no sign of him.
And then he came at my wits end,
With strength alone I cant defend.

He lift me up and broke my jaw,
Just to laugh as I hit the floor.
He took a blade and made a fist,
stabbed his flesh, his vein, his wrist.

Now you're dead and now you're mine,
drink from me and you'll be fine.
I could not stand my masters site,
I killed him quick with my own bite.