A mini-epic written in the viewpoint of 16th century man convicted of lycanthropy. |
Some stories start with birth And close with gay amends My means shan’t be just’fied By my inev’table ends Now even villianrie Cannot be simply spoke Are men not beasts at heart? Mor’l as simple moke I’ve walked in Lykaons shoes And spoke with Fenrir’s tongue Worked for Lucifer Since I was but young The devil saw to me Gifted an artifact A belt of wolven skin And with it I’d contract Lycanthropy To don the devil’s ‘tire To become free at last From man’s great power held By law and lavish flask The drunkenness of power Clouds the sharpest eyes And dulls the greatest minds With its dom’nating highs And so I lifted then My gate of freedom high And spoke aloud Of men I’d slaught on pagan’s flesh I’d dine For Devil, as he had become This Savior of myne. And so their treasured peace Was shattered with their hope I slaught and ate each one Escaping irons and rope Each time blood was spilled My heart leapt and would sing For man is the true demon My devil’s made me king Man and woman, gran and babe Murdered, eaten, and the Others, fighting for but one Consumed by fright do flee Of selfishness I’ve been absolved For I do not slaught for i I slaught for he who birth-ed me Whom freedom’s birth-ed by However long I killed for Perhaps five and twenty year For the first time in this era I was conscious of some fear A man survived my fang and he Dared to, at His child!, jeer His dying laugh I always hear. I sensed myne death approaching As did each man with knife and sword I heard my name as sev’ral spoke It with malicious, bloody chord This is the ending to my tale? I’d done his work, I’d slaught our foe Had I erred, or did I fail? For what then did I undergo These massacres? On bloody wheel I’m placed with evil past At least something has seen As many deaths as I have caused What once was purpose; now obscene So slow this death, so much pain Where has my saviour gone? Perhaps in next life will I see What others have forgone And so I breathe my final breath My sight, then sound, recede Should I regret or look toward A life where I’ll succeed |