The Monster Within

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