The poison gripper...
I implement the excellence to the penmanship.
Poisoning elements exit’s the infected predicates.
Landing on the page, smearing with Old-English —
Letters, put a handle to the rage like a behemoth’s…
Gesture. Believe I never scheme or export legions
Of the tore’d demons created by Lector’s seamen.
Explore regions - Infect the weakling’s with ease.
I’m norm, but this is what my pen seams to release.
Get torn, with a breeze of my words piecing my speech.
I’m War, and my key’s is the key to ceasing your fleet.
Believe this is the season of beasts… more than reality.
I work the graveyard-shit, ‘cause I’m forming fatalities.
The gore my mentality absorbs from the shore of morality.
Creates a everlasting battle, & I’m the storm of mortality.
This is more then brutality, hit your core with modality —
With sacred scriptin’s we break traditions, distorting formality.
Shit’s on the board, the flesh I rip-off the corpse in totality.
If this is the beginning of the end, I must’of been Born in Finality.
‘cause art is Masterous wit stigmata’s in the darkened Nazareth.
I’m the proud hero from ground zero, and these bars are hazardous.
Don’t spark a crafter with drama, ‘cause I’m the soul collector.
Your WILL’s on my hands. So don’t give me motives to fold the letter.
...a joyful ripper.
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