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Date Posted: 23:40:59 11/24/01 Sat
Author: Jonathan
Author Host/IP: 65.230.128.177
Subject: A poem...

The Culling


A thick darkness shadoweth over the castle of thine soul,
Thy shuttereth as thine thinks of the demons that have surfaced in thy mind.
Thine tis weary of life that has recordeth thine sorrow, so tis story be told!
With a thankless spirit thy watcheth as days slow to a feeble grind...

Thy cleave thine tongue to thy mouth and curleth into a ball...
fighting onwards to breathe thy breath while resisting death's fiery hold.
Thy reaper laugheth at the heap shivering against the wall...
Thine sickle tis sharp and glisteneth with blood who lieth buried in thy cold.

Dancing flames consumeth thy mist that addeth to tis morning fright...
Behold an altar is defiled with sweat and the last of thine tears.
With mocketh heckles thy limbs be bound and casteth upon tis table of delight...
The muttering of the angelic utterings; no mercy be found in the midst of everyone's jeers.

Tis pronounceth loud the following words: "Bestarbeto corrumpit viscera ejus mulieris"
Oh, hear thy names... Moloch, Abaddon, Azazel, Lucifer, Coronzon, Baphomet, Beelzebuth, and Satanas thy adore you and invoke you! In Nomine Herthof-Ra!"

Thy sacrificial dagger gleameth in thy light as thy mutilateth a star into thine chest...
As screams are muffled... tis was not long till thine death cometh nigh!
Childhood long gone... thy welcomes thine blade that soon will give thy rest...
With suicidal smiles I acknowledge thine end... soon I will die!

"Euphas Metahim, frugativi et appellavi."

Liketh a goat thine was sacrificed for thy good of thy many...
Tis the gods were appeased... and thy was not long forgotten...
Thy was burneth and ashes were sold to a begger for a penny.
The bones crusheth and used again in the next ritual of the begotten.

THE END


by Dead Alive...

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