HAPPY JUDGEMENT DAY! - Half, Orc, Origin'ILL, Vulgar

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, July 17, 2011 Under: Rhymed Verses


I've got a way with desecrating this native language: sick puns.
The rest is a vague blur cause his wretched behavior eclipsed suns.
Being held in contempt's no better than exemption..
I plead the fifth since intense hellish symptoms left the devil singed some.
I've killed the innocent, and sealed them within demented emblems.
My victims are still women though..or feminine civilians in general.
This hymn's an ode for when the villain's gloatin..
He was sent to kill men so no sentimental emotions.
Pencils smoke when his lyrics are ghostwritten.
It's happened twice and my soul's been sacrificed in both instances.
Below frigid..like my old fridge; it's missed..
A slogan - I'm just a ghost blendin with the wind.
The slope ends, and I float off into the distance.
What's the difference in death? We all go to different dimensions.
Then in turn enter wisdom..The trip's earned.
We learn to live..or surrender first..
December 3rd over again..REMEMBER BIRTH..


The day I trembled earth - to rest on Ithaca's throne..
The temple hymns dismember limbs: guess you gotta kick it alone.
Excalibur gleams with panic it seems, transfixing the stone,
Eclipsing the drones & painting a gold picture - the pixels foretold,
Blood trickles & rolls thru the ice-hearts decadent cold - time to enter the Zone.
His temper is honed. Cruelest speech with eulogys to spark a new disease.
Half-mortals foolishly refused to leave:
He plagued newborns with true scorn, now all they do is bleed..
Plus it's Oddysey me lose - No Ulysses.
Fresh as the coolest breeze, with awesome credence,
I'm toted as a Colossus Daemon, you're toted as a loss of semen..
You throw daggers then come to rue that plan:
I cross a timeborder to try slaughter the armies of Agamemnon to a man,
I created the Art Of War on the blood-soaked fields of death..
When heathens stepped, centuries before Sun Tzu released a breathe
He published our findings, teachers pet -


dwarfed in his shadows the beast awoken by Aggro.. ANIMAL!
he destructed the village beautiful, masterful Van Gogh..
then with a lethal reach he knocked that painting of the easel..
and victims gripped their hymns at the base of the cathedral's steeple..
the bow of Kid Icarus spit impotent arrows; the defense was feeble..
"See, FOOL! I told you the village was destined for doom along with the people.."
cut the dialogue or we'll die in vain or at least lie in pain till we die inane..
we need to inject this virus in his largest vein like the thigh and leg..
that or cry and beg.. sigh and hang our head..
till he hangs our heads on a violet thread like a necklace that declares he's violence bred..
but then brick and mortar exploded from the roof to the floor in sequential order..
the monsterous orc crushing corners in gore causing panic oh, the horror..
starting fires which tiptoed up the trees, got caught in a breeze,
transferred from one to the other and scorched every untorched leaf..
he dismissed himself from the scene of decedent depletion..
his mission was genocide and the beast saw its completion.


I ascend, and later I descend
Injecting the skin of my Obsidian kin;
Watching the chosen bicentennials swim in the crosshairs of a pentium lens
Serenghetti syringe filled to the brim with lacquerized absinthe
A machine's eyes glower redder when it's laser guide had dimmed
An encapsulated nanolight technology with a Caman Island tint
We've been vaporizing men in the Scottish sea for long we're craving Irish gin
Then we laid in piles of gems, strumming the war violins in a primitive age
Justice systems in a pitiful stage - criminals pay, the trial ends
London is a garbage dump, littering fools couldn't comply with simple rules
Liver kicked an innocent mule
Who was delivering freshwater to simmering pools of liver juice in Liverpool
We exist in the ancient digital where priests of vanguard sit, waiting, drenched in fuel
Pagan vestibules who surveil as you attempt to feign a syllable
This world is another planet's hell - but strangely we make those phrases vaguely cynical
The number of the beast spells the name of my six daughters
All age 6: Slaughtered by a fame sick author with blood like methane grade chemicals
I realize you bastards hope this is my last dosage of braggodocious
I am merely the apprentice -My master wrote this in a tavern of embattled oakridge
Can these so called scientists explain the indentations on the pastor's neck?
Or are we all condemned to meet destiny's evil children in the afterdeath
Happy Judgement Day... Welcome to the Rapturefest...

In : Rhymed Verses 

Make a free website with Yola