He moans and he groans
And as he does that he sits on his throne,
is scheming and planning.
His pains make him groan as he plans and he moans
And what does he plan, this not-quite-a-man?
For his hands
To grasp tight round the spans
Of the neck of some woman, some child, some man
He hungers, he does,
for the humans outside here,
For he is alone here.
Alone night after night here
And here isn't quite here
This palace where
(whose name, you should know
Was bestowed by his father, a demon
Was, alone, only to name him then leave him alone.
name is frightfully apt, this
that has trapped him
within its confines,
The name and its rhymes
Marking out all the lines of his life and his manner, the way of his times.
bones are lazy, it's true
Not quite bones, not at all
For they don't really do
What bones are expected to do when connected, these bones have rejected their usual role.
Instead, these bones sag.
Sag? They lag!
Oh, they drag!
They seem more like rags and because of that lack
himself has gone slack.
Like a flag on a day with no wind.
Imagine a great greasy bag full of seething
And you'll have a picture, of sorts
Of this being.
His hands, they are droopy, his eyelids all loopy.
The skin on his necks rolls
and tumbles away
From the rest of his body, as though it can't stay.
His legs, how they slither,
A slimy, slow seeping
Made all the more horrid
because they are creeping
Below the most awfulest parts you could see:
His mouth up above
And his stomach beneath.
The mouth is extraordinary,
It seems to be made of the strongest elastic.
It's miles wide,
Or looks it on sight,
But it's blackness makes measuring too much a fight.
The mouth leads to the gullet, itself quite a fear
Filled with protrusions and lumps and things queer,
Almost as if there's some fighting inside
Fighting for freedom
things still alive
His measureless shapelessness
Can't be defined.
is just one of a kind.
(And Thank God!)
Have you sinned?
If you have then you'd better begin
To make plans for a visit
has a role in this life,
His place in the scheme is to get rid of strife.
does he make all that trouble just cease?
He eats you.
As quickly and nice as you please.
has a singular talent,
A horrible, wonderful special endowment.
of his don't just do nothing,
But allow him to roam the earth
Stuffing and stuffing
His face (and his throat and his stomach, it's true)
And he stuffs all those parts of his body
Whenever you do something
Your lies and your cheating, they sound like a song
won't be long
comes slumping along
to your bedroom your boardroom your
And then, when he finds you
He binds you,
he binds you, As soon as he sees you
Those hands of his seize you
Round your neck they confine you
To sternly remind you
Then he opens his mouth up
And leaning down over you
And there in his belly
Inside of the beast
You'll meet all the others:
The sinners, the haters, the leavers and liars
Who are slowly digested --
No cleansing hellfires!
For Hell's just a myth, a legend, a story
The truth is more awful, more scary,
Those who cause pain, who rend, rip, and murder
Don't spent all eternity
Burning their fervor
In pits full of brimstone
Sins are atoned
For lives they have soured by being devoured
Who returns to his throne
In his kingdom of pain where he lives all alone
To await the next clarion call ringing out
A scream or a shout,
Some sound of performing nefarious deeds.
And then when he hears that,
And he'll cast all about
His eyelids all droopy his mouth in a pout,
'Til he finds what he's looking for, and he'll light out
He'll slouch to his next sumptuous feast, his banquet --
And if you aren't mindful,
He might get you yet!