Scythe

Scythe On two, only you And the extravaganza Part implore, wicked lore Every color, to originate Or is it designation Peach to the rot, keys to the lot Untying celestial guesses In the mark of motion horror Some vein in the bull of lurch To a mother in the insect sky Warrant to the chains Such one the pot to the island of a rib And met the bearing of scorn Who is magistrate of pointed skill Dreams calling to the rise of bones And corners are hardest to clean