We travel across the plague piss waters of our land, Our home Squelch sinking off in the distance,
"Fetch me the ingredients of Prince Madok, Son of mine who will create thy birthright!"
He sent me to the unborn Land of SPECTAKILL With his most trusted Sexual Druids,
Portothello and Docturine among their leaders, Regale me with tales of their prior journeys,
"I, on my knees as he dripped his surging electricity, The Thunder God's virile effluence on my tongue"
"Splendid yes, but does thou not recall our previous duty, The great conundrum of our Lord's defecation dream?"
"As you can see Prince, we have seen many a wonder But what awaits us next upon this new land will surely test us"
Days of travel make me question father's soothsayers, Days more, my sanity and the outcome we all seek.
Bierkrieg
SPECTAKILL's beauty has no adoration from me, No time to gaze upon a land whose future is corpse,
The Druids rap the godless land seeking direction, We travel by foot to a lake governed by a paltry moon,
Archery tinged in magical concoctions by the Druids, Fly like fire serpents towards the shrieking moon,
Ablaze, its embers cool and fall revealing an iron star, Hollow figures stare down on us but we dare not stare back,
After retrieving samples we escape the lake heading west, Through the dark swamps of faded symmetry.
Biomechanoid 3
One Druid falls from illness none are yet to diagnose, Yet we bury the Druid's soul feeling ire from the land itself,
A month has passed and nothing we seek has manifested, I begin to doubt and plan revenge on father's soothsayers,
A damp cavern we inhabit leads us to what we next seek, Although many are lost when we find the dire Fangsnake,
Supposed a sentient dental remnant of a lost giant, Its size will never fail to haunt me in my life hereafter,
Escape leads us far, far away, our morale sunk ever low,
Pisces, zinc
After collect of the various ingredients has been done, One is left, as we infiltrate a colony I have forbid mention of,
A neon foreigner procured as prisoner, we return east, Many a Druid lost to the insanity of SPECTAKILL's scorn,
The pain and suffering we endured I refuse to bring back, To provide fodder for jesters to mock our hardship,
How much age has now been grafted upon my brow? Will father be ashamed of the bitterness his son now exudes?
Our travel home on the dangerous seas are but a comfort, May I not ever return to the cursed soil of SPECTAKILL.
"Never more proud can I be, my son home at last, Excitement will blaze across my kingdom for now we feast!"
Days of celebration only acted to aggravate my fatigue, Much rest is needed to quell the mind and body's ache,
Too much we have endured, too much we have lost, Home does little to comfort me in these affluent times,
The sound of the Druids in the night keeps me awake, My mind failing to shut as they toil on father's thing,
As I wonder the empty castle at dead of night, A creeping sensation of disaster strikes my nerves.
The great throne converted into a receptacle, Ingredients prepared and ready by the Druids,
Father's greatest achievement nearly at hand, He takes his seat as the swarming crowds gather,
The neon foreigner brought to his royal guillotine, With eyes that no longer cast the light of humanity,
With no will to stop them, they feed the foreigner, Pouches and vials and steel plates of ill things,
Crowds erupt with a perverse jubilation, My body feverish at the sight of it all,
And the royal guillotine rises high and proud, And drops with a speed that resembles rage,
Thunderfull applause heard across the kingdom, As the head rolls and is discarded for it serves no use,
Druids remove myriad organs from the foreigner's remains,
Anatomically incorrect things I've never seen before,
Nausea strangles my soul as Father eats the vile meat, Finally he begins the process to create his thing,
On his transformed throne screaming in agony, The crowd now masking their faces from the gruesome stench,
His body writhing like loathsome lightning, The very air around us repulsing all humanity,
And Father defecates, his obscene creation finally birthed, The organism alive throbbing in the gaping receptacle,
A bleak silence drips into every crevasse, rippling out, As everyone watches and realises the king is dead.