We the dirty basterds who can't feel or have some joy,
we the twisted hunters of the long forgotten ghosts,
we the priests and childrens of the cults to the dark void,
we have the will to make her suffer until her soul is on the floor,
begging for forgiveness while we give her nights of mourn,
always chasing her, forever, 'til she can't stand no more,
we shall then stop our masses and give her peace of soul,
and into her mind of light and kindness,
our poison shall we place,
and as she is rotting and convulsing we can have a glorious feast,
with the bodies of her loved ones we shall make us one great throne,
with the ghosts of the beloved ones we can feed our darkness god,
and as she screams and despairs upon the chaos we made,
we can smile forever, drunk in all her pain...
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