In the dead of night, in a shallow grotto; There is a man who mumbles a motto.

Death to the Deco and the Hawaiian toad; Come you all, I will kill my foes.

Half stumbling to a crooked slab; Stooped and brown, and full of scabs.

His teeth flash sharp, and his words come grubby; From a pen of bone, and ink so bloody.

The scratching quill licked the air; Motto mumbled inside his lair.

Death to Deco and tear the Shirt; Maim Kenichi, pound Tripp to dirt.

Echos howl out the cavern, sail on the breeze. Over frozen lakes, to towns with trees.

Little ears pick, the old ones moan; A haunting had come and invaded safe homes.

Death to Deco, and tear the Shirt; Inside their head, virbated disconcert.

Weeping blood boiled out of ears; Nose ran red, eyes filled with tears.

Maim Kenichi, pound Tripp to dirt; Kids woke to shadows; afraid, alert.

Motto's wails chilled sleeps paralysis; And their skins puckers with boils and abscesses.

The town still slumbered, but walked the night; Killing, and tearing, to find the playwrights.

And deep in his grotto, the motto grew strong; When returning vengeance echoed his song.

Death to Deco and tear the Shirt; Maim Kenichi, pound Tripp to dirt.

Soon fires hunger scorned the heaven; And the world below was undone and leaven.

And four black souls, in cave of duplicity; One kneeled dead, the order now triplicity.

Deco's quill borrowed behind his eyes, And out passed blood, crept a blowfly.

A murderous gang crammed past chapped lips. Hollow eyes fell on the one called the Tripp.

Knees buckled, his throat wound up tight, Kenchi's mind wandered, giving up the fight.

Delusions of torture assaulted them both; Until the motto ended on a shrinking note.

And Motto's laugh bounced around his dwelling; But alas, this isn't the end of the telling.

For his motto brought revenge at deco's bequeath. Two tongues uttered their curses past dying teeth.

And Motto felt fear grip his black soul; Features withered, and he died in his hole.

And the night waned bloody, and the dawn broke clear; But the motto still echoed and assaulted young ears.

The trees charred black, young hands smeared red; And those that were, wound up dead.

The eerie town still slumbered today; Its presence, a cancerous form of decay.

Beware the town, ringed with charred trees; For ventures anear, you will never leave.