"Whose gonna be a good boy now?",
Another taunt issued from the diseased throat of this abhorrent ****,
A slave I writhe amidst the cadavers of those before me, a fresh **** in this harlot's eternal hunt,
With the different hues of **** from my palette upon the walls of my hopes I'm forced to paint, the release of tortured sleep I now allow,

I awake to find the acidic ire of my blood spurting from lacerations innumerable have dissolved my chains I am freed,
Behold, our ***** queen of filth asleep amongst the rotting dolls of her discarded offspring from which she enjoys feeding,
Now your mind I'll be ****** while I lash your body into seizing, the ******* from this bloodlust I've been needing,
Upon her lips still clings aborted flesh, clutching the softly whimpering child close to her chest, bubbling and leaking still my seed from the last forced breed.

But it fades and my eyes open, my body still laying on the fluid covered slime of death's floor, how?,
The matron stands over me, this is the true absence of God above,
She caresses my cheek and whispers close and warmly with the low rasp of her bile scarred throat with sadistic love,
"Whose gonna be a good boy now?"