His titillating fire burns
A hole within their souls,
It scorches paths of lover’s ash
That parents Satan’s ghouls.

They crawl about with dewy eyes
Air kissing both his feet,
Lethargic smiles grace the lips
That cry for mercy’s sleep.

He flicks his wrist, their pageboys dance,
His bidding’s always won,
For with one jerk of evil’s lance
Necks snap, heads come undone.

Monotonously swinging hips
Call out in sears of pain,
His fire burns their innocence
And yet, it never rains.

A sick man’s platter of delights
Laid out for all to see,
Instead of washing off his plate
You pass the spice to me.