To the Man
The dead do not sing,
nor do they cry;
and oft wonder why,
they dance with death ---
and play draughts with the devil,
these Illuminati lords,
who shall die a thousand deaths,
most glorious Pig-Devils!
your last meal shall be a portion of hemlock...
great sows of the Earth!
These dead ---
do not know that they are already dead!
Old Lucifer he shall not save thee,
but hasten the raven to pluck thine eyes out,
and every sin he shall punish...
your days are numbered...
as days on a dim calendar;
as thou shalt be languishing on thy temporal graveyard;
I shall be seated in the heavens eternal,
with the Lord of Life,
and we shall look down on thee,
(and forget thou ever were)
***Its called 'venting'***
Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2017
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