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A liturgist in the realm of filth and gore Augean bard of ęsculapian deviance Fables I've made, sick stories I've parlayed For the rapt attention of my heinous
Despised rottrephile, the object of my infection A gore hound obsessed with the extreme and obscene In manic obesciance, I pledge my devotion Composing sonnets of horror for my ghoul fiend
Penny dreadfuls are met apathetically Asomatous, they are mere words For a worthy offering I need tangible death The pen has proved fallible to the might of the swords
For my Bathorial maiden, I'll kill and maim For our victims, the future proves bleak I'll slice throats in her bloody name Rending other's flesh that in me is so weak
Excisions and slices and cuts to their integument My finesse with cutlery, she doth inspire Collecting a bouquet of offal, my regiment Trophies to admire
Dislimbed torsos and severed craniums Disinterred innards and human chum Though I present this sanguine tribute It's never enough and still I'm rebuked
A grandiose gesture, I require for a petulent madamned Gutted, my entrails will be preserved in canopic vials Formaldehyde and alcohol are meted into jars Lacerating extremities, a fitting end to these trials
Mellifluent gore is met with ennui My tragic reward is naught but death's kiss Consciousness falters as blood flows from my head Lay me down to die, nothing is better than this
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