---

The little man took the Cup,
The Cup of Dogs Piss.
And drank it whole.
Turned slowly and smiled,
Urine trickling down his chin.
"All will die", he whispered,
Running with his footless stumps.
He screamed as he burst into flames.
Devoured by Death, was the little man,
By the doing of my hand.
Oh yes, I was pleased.
It was a pleasure to the eye.
His misfortune was my fortune.
I enjoy people dying before me.
They lie beneath my throne,
Dying by my wrath.
I laugh. Laugh and snigger,
At my ill-fated doings.
And then all of a sudden,
The Altar was prepared
With human remains
And blood from the Unwanted Horse.
Tied up and gagged, the Dwarf,
Silently..........................Died!
He gave his life to the Bastards,
Bringing hope to all those,
Who continued with the rapes
And the Humongous Killings.
The Mongol Foetus beheld village carnage
Within the betrayed sewerage domaine.
Crawly vermints slithered in slime
To see the Murdered Plasma.
And lo! He was generous with pain!
Yet horrific was his pleasure as he pointed...
Pointed at........Death!
Death was a pleasing..........release.
Old John, wobbled and fell.
Krustore stood on his face,
Looked with disgust, and let the knife do its work.
Hacked John's bone joints, bluntly apart.
"Tremendous", said Krustore, in the bloody sunset.
Imbeciles gaining their just desserts.
Decapitation and Disembowelment.
Fucking idiots dying for their foolishness.

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