The Imp


The imp put on his old disguise
His followers fawned about
They saw him as all good and wise
Their minds were purged of doubt

“You trust in me – Mine is the Word
The only word that’s true
Allow no others to be heard
For I will think for you

And those who will not bow the knee
Nor do all that I say
Nor offer only prayers to me
Must all be made to pay

The purity within your faith
May be cleansed with each death”
This fetid wafting wicked wraith
Paused then to take a breath

“I am all mercy and so kind
So you must kill for me
Enthralled I will enchant your mind
So go and kill – the free”

Now many imps they have deceived
As oafs hear what they preach
The widows and the orphans grieve
And Hope’s put out of reach

And yet in time each imp is slayed
When good folk rally round
And all their oafs who fawned and preyed
Lay dead and in the ground

Round here the flags of truth hung limp
And nothing’s as it seems
As down the alter of the imp
Good blood flows in great streams

(From the Saga of the Spiteful)


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