Musings On The Beast Poem by Noah Body

Yield to the call of destiny
The might sonorous soundings
Harken to it's inevitability
As it swallows all surroundings

It is the voice of the beast
And 666 shall be his number
Dunno is what he names himself
As your soul he does encumber

Loneliness and despair the blades
With which he flays your heart
Self despite is the very wedge
He uses insanity to impart

Chaos is his darkened realm
Hatred is his food of choice
He will scorch your very soul
Until in agony you give voice

Cold fingers in your mind entwined
Each fragment of your heart he owns
To rip and tear and twist and break
Until music arises from your moans

Sure as the tide he cannot be stopped
As he does dance and misbehave
Driving you to that untimely end
At the end he dances on your grave