under the mountains and below the lake
there rots a city of the vilest make
the streets are paved with bones and skulls
the buildings are made from sunken ship hulls
when the rain pours, white turns to red
there's no coming back from the land of the dead
your soul will be stolen should you cross the path
of a gruesome and hideous purveyour of wrath
snatched like an apple from a food vendors stall
your spirit will die, your corpse will fall
upon the black earth, stained with evil
compared to the king, your power is feeble
your spells and enchantments are foolishness here
the evil ghosts feed off your dread and your fear
you should have been a gentleman, or been a lady
you should have refrained from killing that Sadie
it's too late now, your 6 feet underground
your soul is being eaten and you can't make a sound

that was going to be about faeries, but things just evolve sometimes.
hello fnords, hello trees, hello world.
kona
spreader of manure and random visitor

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Glacian, in the year 292 AF.