The Black Magician Poem by Tengre Asasiun Gurun Tengre

Whenever he geteth up at cockcrow
He kneeleth in front of the cross,
His praying is watched by the black crow
And the dark hall smelleth the moss.

As usual, he openeth the Capital,
With skill, instead of the Bible.
First of all, it's vital
For him, and there's tearing candle.

The Scriptures and the Swords is old
Fashioned, and the Capital and the Bible,
Is new fashion to relieve, from the cold
World, the groaning people.

So whenever standing
On the pulpit, he sayeth, impeachment
Equality, distribution, and calling
The Lucifer and be the agent.

Always he kicketh out the faithful
But never ceasing the black magic
No the shines, the church is now full
The echoes of the hollow music.

He never believeth the Bible
So far and ever more, be
Willingly Lucifer's disciple.
The priest? How can he be…

-Tengre