Necronomicon Poem by Anand Dixit

Written in blood, bound in flesh
A grimoire of demon resurrection
A grimoire of burying the dead

A book which is very old
The forbidden voice of the old
The anvil of evil

The undead are my children
The great old one is my father
The unspoken ones are my friends
Whispers the book

That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die.
Whispers the mad Arab

Eleven souls of eleven men
Is the price one pays
To enchant the enchanted sword

To summon the summoner
Tiamat, Apsu, Kingu, Ereshkigal
Kutulu, AzagThoth, Ishnigarrab,
Ninnghizhidda, Nammtar, Humwawa