The Seventh Day of November in the Year of our Lord 2012

09:57
The Beast sleeps. Oh, I pray, let it sleep!
On the softest of clouds let it dwell,
or perhaps....it prefers the cozy fires of hell?

With it´s nose burrowed deep in a blanket
I can hear it snore.
This mighty fiend who has chilled me
to the core.

My soul it has made an open grave
wide for all things that crawl,
and where rotted roots unabashed sprawl.
Where no flower will ever feel the sun,
this is the Beasts special kind of fun.

Yes,let it sleep. Oh, I pray, let it sleep!
Resting by the banks where willows weep,
and the grey sky with malice seep.

Snuggly on the softest cloud,
let it in Dream Land forever hold.
Among all other unspeakable terrors
yet to be told....