Note, this is partly lizardinlaws work, lines 4 and 29 were modified exactly on lizardinlaws advice.

 

Down in the cave I mix the pot,

The rotting flesh makes my skin hot

Generations of men, through the years

In their death, lie stewing here.

 

 

Here comes a warrior, in battle slain

His comrades take him here to be laid

With this spatula, I make a slot

So he can lie in this mortal pot.

 

 

With this blade I cut him up,

Blend him in the slurry and slup

May the mortal liquids break him down

So they can grow, here in the ground.

 

 

The messenger says “the resistance has come,

And we’re outnumbered, twenty to one”

When the tension rises, and the heat gets hot

It’s time to empty, the mortal pot.

 

 

Spin the ratchet, open the gates

Soon the slurry, from the pot will escape

And each compartment will get its fill

Then for the wizard to use his skill

 

 

In each compartment, I see the veins

Growing from the wizards pains

And on the veins, grows the bones

Flesh, organs and neurones

 

 

Finally grows the mortal skin

At the wizards command, the egos fly in

And as they squirm from each compartment

Each new warrior grabs their armament.

 

 

From this cave, the forces fly

So that our race, will never die

And when they die, when their battles get hot

They will return to the mortal pot.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.