The boy of no tomorrow

The one they called: “The boy of sorrow, the boy of blood, of no tomorrow,
the child of hate, the child of rape, the child with darkness as its fate”,
for pain and horror sparked it´s life
his mother died, in his first night,
when he had crept, into the light,
and when she died, he felt it deep,
began to sob, began to weep,
a baby boy, but not inside,
a shadow king, the devil´s pride,
he cried into the moony night,
not knowing that his way ahead,
was crowded with the living dead,
they came, they heard his fatal call,
rose up again, not one, but all,
the undead came, tore down the door,
stood smiling on the wooden floor,
stepped in and grabbed the boy by force,
what followed then, was even worse,
the midwife and the doctor dead,
his mother in the bloody bed,
and from outside, without a head,
a lady came, a maggot train,
a sight to drive a man insane,
she grabbed the boy, right to her chest,
and then pulled out, a wrinkly breast,
not firm, not warm, not smooth as silk,
she nurtured him, with cold black milk ,
and with the steady, oozy flow,
the devil´s child, began to grow,
this seed of hell, this evil sprout,
while madness roamed the world around,
and so there came the judgment day,
came with the odor of decay,
but it went on for years and years,
with nothing more than blood and tears,
the undead praised and loved their king,
and four faced brutes protected him.

The boy grew up with madness strong,
and on his lips a dreadful song,
with happiness he sang it loud,
his guardians, they cried with proud:
“Oh behold this king of grief,
of murder and of disbelief
of ruin, hate, of blood and pain,
humanities far greatest stain,
never shall he be forgotten,
not until we all are rotten!”

But they can´t rot, not if the boy,
a puppet king, the devil´s toy,
will leave the world in peace and sanity,
for only this, will save humanity,
but not until this day will come,
the clouds will stop their thundersong,
will fire rise from down below,
will nothing grow, what humans sow,
the dead will rise, their armies grow,
will death come in a million ways,
will fear and hatred run the days.

 

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