Loathsome Existence
Asbel
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Wanion its oh so damndest soul!
with the devil-instrument it we shall reap,
after the banquet obscur'd in our thole,
its blood so lovingly across our faces smear
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Lord of carnagel,
lady of carnagel,
one funeral maketh many,
swarm god's acres;
two indeed more:
blest treat of delight -
give praise for the blood it bleed...