by Nick Gisburne
Cadavers, ripped and ragged, foul the road
We slither down its treacherous decline
The shaman spits a spell of sacred code
Enchanted to invoke the dark divine
Unspeakable obsessions plague my soul
The stench of death, depravity, and fear
The eyes of he who guides me, black as coal
Reflect a shock of lightning, sharp and clear
As thunder turns the acid clouds to pitch
We find, at last, the honourable man
His weary outline kneels beside a ditch
The key, the core, the focus of my plan
The only heart untainted by the curse
Will die as I recite the final verse
