Dusk woerot: chapter i

On the socrilegious and tortuous
Dungeon of rustiness
From these forgotten fields
The withering and ailing essence
Called woerot
Vawls a shrink of pain
With a shuder of disgust

"Alas, i have crawled my hate suffering
under the hellish shadows of thorny paths
where my gloomy tears of blood
fall being veckoned towards the abysm"

The vilapivation and mourning of woerot
Shall engender upon your souls
A black yell of torment
We must listen to him writhe
And bewail of sorrowwrage

"My dismal chant to disavov the lightness
is groaming a perpetual requiem
while my illumed falldown in this world
turns infuriating and unverable
without my ancient dwelling, my coffin"

And forever woerot cries:

"If my distress and ruthlessness
are a real sore and eternal blasphemy done
poem
hail Death!
Ave Dusk Woerot!!!"