By the time I reverted back,
Back to the bastard of Babylon,
For far too long had I been kept
From Phineus’ feast.
Claws clawing,
Harpies, harridans and harlots harping,
Just a real fuckin’ mess.
My barmy tongue crying out,
Screaming and moaning in dry agony
“Let me creep back to mah crypt!”.
For you see the skin
And not the skeleton under’t.
In holy communion, and in private,
I have witnessed such a metamorphosis,
The peeling of flesh, stripping of sinew
and the removal of mah tongue.
The vile usurpation,
Dominace of the filthy bone,
Horrid calcium,
My borderline skeleton.
But when the dust settles,
And you have read my barmy tongue,
Learn to look beyond the silhouette
And see why,
Why you should run from me.
Image by Dmitry Ermakov.
