The Perishing of The Fiend
Depart, depart O' Fiend!
Perished be and beheld beneath Beelzebub's bosoms.
May his breath engorge your perverse flesh of a man,
May his digitalis eviscerate the blasphem-ic entrails
You dare call a heart.
Perished be, perished be!
No more shall I embrace the very hand that rebukes me;
No more shall I devour the fruit that writhes with rot;
No more shall I allow myself to sleep with cadavers!
No more will the fiendish perpetrator exist
In Almighty's name! Oh!
Be still my trembling bod.
-- And may I find solace within this silver silencer.