Her eyes are dying embers...
Her skin's cracked porcelain...
Her soul's a spring; she's coiled tight...
Oh! Where do I begin?

She's dying from the surface-in,
But there's a danger lurking there--
Betwixt the hunks of rotting meat;
Beneath the mounds of matted hair.

Her hands are crooked razors...
Her ******* are melted wax...
Her womb will bear only darkness now...
But her heart holds out for more attacks.

Her spine's a fuse in dynamite...
Her bones are all but dust...
But there's still malice in her mind;
A mind that's caked in rust...

She's decaying from the outside-in,
But there's a monster 'neath the husk.
A being built of horrid things;
Of claw and hoof and tusk.

Her voice is winter windstorms...
She draws in her toxic breath...
Her muscles crack like autumn leaves...
She is a sight of withered death.

She'll score your flesh with talons...
She'll strip you of your flesh...
She'll bottle up your insides,
In an attempt to keep them fresh.

She's a curse that comes from inside-out,
A plague that yearns to maim.
A rage that yields to only one,
But no one knows their name...