The Tougher the Scuffer the Bigger the Suffer

The vermin roam the hallways looking for a taste; They’re moaning to an eerie song as if they’re giving grace. The vultures listen carefully atop a pile of bones; The insect’s searches anything they’ll even eat their own. The brimstone burns with fire fuelled by spent desires; through the holes that once were eyes blows the cold of practiced liars. The ladies with the magic touch will turn your heart to stone; While the flesh is falling off of you exposing withered bone. Torment rides a dragon as old as sin its self; Cloaked in clouds of fiery red and known as khan the twelfth. And when you open up your eyes and think you have escaped; It’s just another magic trick from the waving of a cape.