Up a tree

The Tortured of All HallowA thin blade is raised, shining in the light, It is thrust forward, breaking through the skin, The wielder finds joy in the gory sight And disembowels the prey with a grin.The Tortured of All Hallow
When this has been done the blade strikes once more, It carves with poise forming a jagged shape, Sculpting form from formlessness at knife's bore Until the blank face has been wrought agape.
Left to the elements the victim lays, Dead in the daylight, awaiting the night, And when shadows grow long and darkness plays, Flame broods within, what an eerie orange light.
Then beasts come
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Are you watching closely...
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Yeah, that's what we call cool.
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Yeah, that's what we call cool.
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Yeah, that's what we call cool.
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