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and the witches head was impaled above the entrance to the town
causing many a traveller to curse and look away
and the village to the damned was open planned
and carefully designed to look this way
and he ate a hearty lunch amongst the impaled and the dying
and it was difficult to hear for the screams and the crying
a babies head for this banquet of the dead
and the living was still trying
to be free from this corkscrew of death
and each tried with their dying breath
to curse the Vlad the impaler
this time he was their jailor
and it was not some drunken sailor
evil takes many shapes and forms
and sails against life against the norms
and crucificies you untill it is against your will
evil feeds on evil's ills
Georges

George

With poems like this you should be reading the weather forecast on the day of the Last Judgement.

The doomed despair of prayer
The happy comedy of the Year
Murder makes the best poetry
See you in Hell for eternaty
Cold Boolded George
Saint and angels curse,
hissssssssssssssssssss
Please write us another verse

Ben

Ben

Kelly, you are a scoundrel.
I was taking my depression (weather) from leonard cohen inspiration.
Damn you...........Georges