Hellymaster Poem by Paris Thulare

You are craving for me I know,
Settling for dust even on snow.
Stop already, I am coming you know.
All packed are swords,
Peppered with rage of sorts.
You are to loose, mark my words.

South has eyes lurking,
With talks poaching,
For the suderland cee who knows no revenge.
All ready are their booggy traps,
So is east, the mother of whammie raps.
I was once on laps,
Now relax.
I wont trip or relapse.