by Nick Gisburne
A dinner, in the Feasting Halls of Hell
A supper, for the Beast of Wrath and Rage
Upon the sombre tolling of a bell
The shackled servants stumble from their cage
On plates of sacred silver from the East
The heads of angels, innocents, and saints
Arrayed around the entrails of a priest
Are smeared and stained with blood-polluted paints
The most exalted evil of them all
Is ushered in, with fawning stoops and smiles
Pathetic, fearful parasites, they sprawl
The misfits and the scum he most reviles
But angels are an unexpected treat
They taste of Heaven, succulent and sweet
