You’re not a believer in witches.
Then why are you stood at my gate?
What are your reasons for smirking?
Don’t you believe even in fate?
O Lord be with me, it be the truth?
I stand before the Devil at hoof!
Angels warned to not trespass this path,
ignoring them and reason with careless laugh.
Snigger you might.
But I notice with glee.
Thou daren’t cross my gate,
’til invited by me.
I‘ll cross your shadow true, O bride of the cursed;
and whack cadaver grin from face, this be the first!
But as of right now, I do happily laze,
On my side of the fence, where the horses do graze.
Thou art most wise, to not cross my path.
The lanterns of skulls are filled with my wrath.
Their flames they may spare thee, should I so wish.
For raw flesh and bloody is our favourite dish.
Away from me you hag,
O wretched cankerous banshee slag!
You spook the horse nerves,
with foul breath naught deserves.
‘Tis only my breath thou art scared to come near?
What stops thee crossing? What do you fear?
The flames from the lanterns, the spikes on the gate?
The thought of the devil lying in wait?
I am no coward, my heart lies the brave,
but I tarry no longer with a scurrilous knave.
For tomorrow I return, with sword and with friend;
On that day old crone, the Lord will deem your end.
Be mindful of visions, thou casts in His sight.
You might be surprised with the range of His might.
You’d do well to leave on the very next boat.
Lest the vision comes true and you’re the scapegoat.
The Heavens above are both glorious and pious,
Which is why people like you are sent down to try us!
Don’t get complacent my dear, fate be a whisper away,
there be many like me – not held in your sway.
Though thou does scorn witches,
The facts here do prove,
Despite having ‘no power’.
You’ve made the last six brews.
The Winner in the 11th round: the undefeated Rubber Superior on the left
The humbled Loser: Pitchfloorking’ on the right
2 – 0