Alchemisland

Cops around, asking if Andrew’s about

Loudly saying no he’s not, he’s out

You on the landing like a radar tech, listening out

At the sound of their going, you ran out

Like Henry after Holbein, displeased with the accuracy

And overpleasing liberties in his painting of queenly Anne of Cleaves

Call me knight never sheathed, night never leaves for you, man I cleaved

Great tendering of all oaths, oats and owings, I’m open throat synonymous

I’m in a vile, violent cult, kill cunts anonymous, leave a man riddled Euronymous

Night fever which leaves at cockrow, a creeping lycanthrope

Entreating you with my hand on your throat, now I can gloat

I have the best fur coat, thirty first of the month cursed moonglow

I can feel the life fizzing like shook Cidona where my knife struck

Like someone dragged a hook along your gallow’s stump, owling muscle.