He Who Lives Underground

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Snickety diddle I am I am I am the devil

I dig ditch-deep drilling holes in souls

They say I'm sour but this simply isn't true

I'm sweeter than sugar from the cane

I plant cavities in their hearts

and I pluck out their eyes.

Their bodies fold in half

knees to chest 

knees to chest

They curtsy to me, bowing beyond moral flexibility.

Blind and wandering the cold

Earthy faces dragging on the ground

feet carving a red path against grey stone

they will never find their way alone

So I take them home

I crush their scrawny elbow in my scaly grip

and I lead them below the grewy stone.

No flinch of recognition passes over their faces

when we pass the ash of their ancestors' burning bone

Here in the heat of their shame

they collapse. Delicate delicacies fading to dust.

I lift them by their necks and rattle and shake

until they are stripped to cold white stone.

Then I send them north, where

above my home they gather

The ones who see night in the day.

They pluck their eyeballs from the skull

and poison their grey brains with the black blood

they see running through their hair

And so it goes and the cycle remains

This is how we steal away

the ones who see night in the day.

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