Never Reap, Where The Reaper Reaps

For those dire tyrants, who presumptuously, take their faiths, in leaps

Should know, now and forever, to never reap, where the Reaper reaps

For he's a nether-nefarious demon, he's the fucking raging supernova

Who may appear, although unbidden, but conjured, to fuck them over

How he hates to see the virgin dead, wasted as cadavers, upon a pile

And he'll simmer then seethe, as he ruminates on his vengeance, vile

For he's so much more, than the angel of death, he's a master of pain

He'll soak the self-righteous, in oil and acid, or; tar, feather and maim

It's his swinging scythe and eternal right, to claim those mortal souls

Or if he desires, to impale, selected undead heads, on burning poles

And albeit he's a carnifex, his reach is further, than a darkness giver

For he'll disembowel a tyrant, to feed a hound of Hell, its rancid liver

Those eligible, to stare upon his guise, will wish they'd never looked

For those who slaughter, within his domain, will be infernally fucked

And once they're face to face, with him, their agonies will never stop

As he takes pleasure in pain and their eyes, he will squeeze and pop

In distant nightmares, some dreamers, may hear a despotic scream

Visualise a monster, in boiling chemicals, amidst, a shroud of steam

But maybe there'll be somebody else, watching, who'll bear a scythe

And a memory of whispered words, of a dirge, 'My lives, for your life'

Scream awake! Scream awake! If those night terrors, still fuck you up

Because death can wait for awhile, but firstly, let the scythe-man sup

For those who are morbidly insane and glorify, dead bodies, in heaps

Should know, now and forever, to never reap, where the Reaper reaps