Hounds Of Hell Poem by Pierre Rausch

Hounds Of Hell

Fire on ground, under the mountain
Fire shrubs, a stone-grave
To conduct staggered
Draw from bundle

Fire on brimstone and damnation
New master of wiser kind
Part of motorclub shift gear
A dragon pursued them

And discussion at door
On that tide-hoisted screen
A grotesque party, sparkle firethorn
„Stop, stop“
But it was late, in fact
Of your way north

He was held up, the fire of bird
Close to the pony gate
„Don't you worry“
The hounds grew heavier
Hushed be water
The plies of outer town

Red rays then (suddenly) were hauling (on)
There was loud noise
Through a rent in cloud
Straight into opening

Tick the prickly digit to a vet
Wuw, wuw
Brick the fuzz to thesis
Wuw, wuw
Would far underground

Wealth is like he sun
Growling, the grub about

Drivel strength just before
Wuw, wuw
For a sound and an eye
Wuw, wuw
With best regards

It's the hounds of hell alive
It's the hound's of hell really

Is crested and burning
„We bear no weapons“
Seized bow and shot

It's the entry dialogue (in the religion wind)
Woodpecker, borrowed
On to an eagle's back
What it tastes like

It's the hounds of hell that I'd see without breath
Waving angry strength toward
It's the hound's of hell, as cold as death

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