Monster
DO NOT PROD THE SLEEPING BEHEMOTH
For in his wake, all donned in hope
Torn enraged to tattered shreds of cloth
Matters not to the blood lusting oaf
Crimson tinted visions
Through obstreperous milky orbs
View a costly vital decision
One any could ill afford
Be urged to tiptoe in silence
Round the pent up snoring goon
For he's dreamt for moons of wreaking violence
Drooling over your doom
I beg you leave slumbering demons in peace
If he could he would beg you the same
For all who've succumbed to his clenching of teeth
Have lived not to surmount the shame
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