Blackburn Shawn William
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Christmas In Hell
T`was the night before Christmas in the scorched ground of hell,
Where the exiled souls would be conceded a morning without harrowing spell.
They would steady their lousy bags on top of their grave but they were frail, there dead,
Hoping Santa Claws would bestow them a jug of water or slice of bread.
As some souls slumbered into a passive sleep for the first time in the past recent years,
There came a slender man in a long blue robe with dark keen eyes and attentive ears.
Accompanied by a boa with gilded skin and singing in a delicate silvern voice,
Congnizent of ...