Sunday, January 27, 2019

Incantesimo no. 43

Smoke clouds and dead flowers
May the cowards choke on the rotting flesh of their families
 May fourteen generations of their kin suffer the pain of my children tenfold on tenfold
Their bodies mangled from inbred cannibalism
The snake will bite
May the cat drag another rat
 As the bodies lay cold in the night
Let them share the virus in the air
I burn another lock of her hair
My blank stare, a plague seems fair
Protezione per mia vera famiglia
May his mother eat out his eyes in front of me as the wolves rip her face from the skull
Her picked dry skull to be used as a bowl per la moglie mangia the tounges of all their friends and company, Sei un cancro. Non sei niente più di cancro. Mi dispiace.
L'inverno dei Pezzati è bello