carrion grinderA mill cannot grind with the blood that is past.The tiny sundries are rotatingthey're answering the purposesfrail gear wheels are operatingbut nothing is amissThe building is made of contorted bonesthe roof is covered with leathern peltsome scarry crust was slowly grownand some filthy foul fur feltA colossal heart is beating insideand pushs the rotten gearing wheelsa gristle armor is saving its hideand douzends of veins are pulsing realInto the wide and opened mawIt dumped the festered olid flesha clanking noise like a rattling sawin thousand pieces it will be slasheda squeaking and grating is making the nois
Sta.sh
