A little unpainted wooden house remote from travelled ways Two hundred years and more it have leaned or squatted there Small-paned windows still stare shockingly Twisted in a reverie of memories of unutterable things
Lost in the fields, caught by the storm Tried the door, knocking Unpleasant crudeness, secrets forgotten Bound in leather, there lies the book
Plate XII, gruesome details The butcher's shop of the cannibal Anziques Plate XII, repellent gastronomy
Old, white-bearded and ragged, he inspires wonder and respect Strong, stout, with bloodshot eyes, inexplicably keen and burning "Glad you had the sense to come right in" The incongruous host said, motioning the frightened me to a chair
The book falls open, speech growing thicker "This is sinful, I suppose" Chopped bodies, tickling my blood Shocking ecstasy, killing the sheep
Plate XII, gruesome details The butcher's shop of the cannibal Anziques Plate XII, repellent gastronomy
The picture makes me hungry for victuals I cannot raise nor buy They say meat makes bones and flesh, and gives you new life A man can live longer and longer Splattering impact, the rain is not red
A small red spattering glistens on the page Lending vividness to the horror below To the horror below
Plate XII, gruesome details The butcher's shop of the cannibal Anziques Plate XII, repellent gastronomy
Plate XII, Plate XII Plate XII, loathsome repellentTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
