The unequivocal sorcerer of slaughter,
I touched the altar and altered my saucer.
Also, I'm flying off the couch like a mortar;
Hoarding powder for that elusive boarder.
I'm bombarding the forest with sawdust,
Open up the squealer and I'll absorb ya.
Kirby the paupers, never mind impostors
From monsters to varmints via carnage;
I'm taking hostages from a cockpit locked in orbit
While you're too busy getting lost on shortcuts
Through the forest, like some forgotten tortoise.
I dream of beanstalks taller than the tallest,
All chopped up as fodder for my fortress;
I'll Trojan horse your forces as a florist
Then harvest your gardens with ordnance.
Ready the warships with torches-
It's turnips versus turrets,
And my furnace is fuming for your service;
No need to be nervous, I'm steady like a surgeon
And concern's always been for the toucans.
My archers carry shotguns for the turbulence,
Your thoughts hang like moss against a blank canvass
While mine climbs like vines towards madness;
I'll finish this with a sickle
And end up myth of the labyrinth.

-SLuR