on the charted floor of souls
fire heats twelve iron bowls
rafters echo devil screams
arms and legs hang from the beams

roast the skin with castor seeds
hair of crone and spice of weeds
stir and mix the flesh and blood
till the supper looks like mud

splintered skulls of fresh-chopped heads
each laid out on nightshade beds
plates of bone and knives of steel
sharpened for the midnight meal

who will choose the honored seats?
who will serve the roasted meats?
who will **** the sockets dry?
who will live, and who will die?

if you serve the master's will
every wish of his fulfill
if you heed the master's call
he might eat you last of all