Forsooth, the bight thus dug ever deeper
as the dusted gray dray coasted hither.
Thee shall bedight thine kin overmorrow,
for this ill will shan't goeth thus unseen.
Nay besmirch thy destiny with ilk vile.
Death begat by thee with no remorse, burnt unto thine soul a blight uninfringed, released.
Pull yonder this day, for the bight be fasten around thy neck, yet heed henceforth 'tis thine soul to pay the toll.
Flames shan't purify thy disposition.
Sleep never more at ease, for evermore.
Karma begat thee ill act of hatred.
(Hope I didn't butcher it)
©lyriks
L