An aceldama littered with corpses, withered
Cerebrum spills from heads hacked in twain
Incarnadine shower across land scoured
Quenching the sod, the blood of the slain
Battles we've fought and conquests we've wrought
In wholesale slaughter, embroiled
Harvesting dead for our dinner spread
To the victors, the fruit of the spoiled
A quartet of gorelords, reigning in blood
Sweetmeats are ablated in a sanguine flood
Survivors of the melee are illaqueated
Deigned as pabulation, impinguated
Raise the stakes, leave them all impaled
Flagitations have all failed
Raise the stakes, leave them all impaled
Tapered pikes piercing entrails
Trodding down a path, beset on each side
By the ganched and their horrisonant cries
Astride cacuminated poles, they point the way
To an arescent feast celebrating victory
Heartily whiff a myriad of stenches
Putrescine platters brought forth by wenches
Cruor bullion, the soup du jour
Into tankards, claret is poured
Crapulous carousing, the de rigueur
Caitiff factions sullied our names
Beseiging their lands, we staked our claims
With their progeny dead and women caught
Now the impaled shall rot
Culled from a paladin's remains
The redolant guts of peditastellus slain
Culinary skills are put to the test
For a seven corpse meal we can't wait to ingest
From on high, the beleagured cry of suffering
Stuck like pigs on acicular sticks, uncontrolled blubbering
Atop gavelocks, punctured gralloch haemorrhage, therein
Their final view of this motley crew eating finewed kin
