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Magic, Pooetry

Turned To Darkness – Part III

After what seems a millennium The Count has risen.
A full brown moon is out and nuggets will be spillin’.

Out from the fetid brown coffin, The Count does rise.
Challengers to my fecal prowess, meet an early demise.

A poo blockage stands in my way no more.
The streets will run brown with doodoo gore.

In a huge tidal wave my brown bats spew forth.
Devouring all in their way with no remorse.

No retreat will work, no constipation can save you.
If you hide, my porcelain fangs will find you.

You may try and fight me, by all means, try your best.
You will end the same as others, split from anus to breast.

The gaping crypt is open, the brown abyss awaits all.
An intense aroma will cause even the strongest to fall.

My poo power immeasurable, not even I know my limits.
The world will drown in mustard, brown biscuits.

So I ask you on this day was it worth waking The Count?
A world covered in shite seems an impossible mission to mount.

Thrones overrun with septic mess…
Bowls cleansing with fire no less.
Bowels waning under much duress…
Never before existed such a fecal stress.

Screams of the weak and prayers for constipation.
But nothing can stop this unholy fecal menstruation.

None can stop this not even a brown Wizard of power.
The Count is here and his fangs have struck the hour.

So let the poo bats fly and devour all radiant light.
None shall forget the name Count Dumpula this night!

Pure Pooetry

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