Death has come to take its’ fill
From a sleeping serpentine creature
Writhing with longing to make still
A slithering thing with viperous sting
Slashing or smashing never concealing
With no breath left in its’ chest
A cold stiff corpses has no feeling
No heart beating beneath this breast
Only empty eyes praising the ceiling
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 5:44 PM UTC
Death has come to take its’ fill
From a sleeping serpentine creature
Writhing with longing to make still
A slithering thing with viperous sting
Slashing or smashing never concealing
With no breath left in its’ chest
A cold stiff corpses has no feeling
No heart beating beneath this breast
Only empty eyes praising the ceiling
