by Nick Gisburne
I’m weary of this aspect of my work
The blood of slaughter sticking to my boots
Another pagan party gone berserk
Those cannibals - voracious little brutes
More chunky lumps of flesh to sweep away
And kidneys from a corpse without a head
I long to take a break, for just a day
To please myself, and not the living dead
But sunset comes to haunt me with its bite
My gruesome list of chores begins again
Proceeding to the crypt by candlelight
I serve my Lord his breakfast blood at ten
Before we host the Tea and Torture Club
I think I’ll give the altar boys a scrub
