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There once was a grim creeper;
He used to be quite the sleeper,
Until one day he awoke from Death's first kiss,
Up from the darkest abyss.
Slithering and lisping by,
He enjoyed the hopeless orphan's cry,
Whispering in ears at night,
This is how he'd stir up a good fight.
Lies, lies, lies.
Heavy signs, signs, signs.
He forced many a finger to pull the trigger,
Even though most would never even figure.
He moved from one shadow to the next;
He knew how to infiltrate many a text.
"Keep hating yourself," he would always say,
For this was his vicious wrecking way.
Playing with fire was all part of his game,
And he wanted everyone to be just the same.
He knew very well that his time was, indeed, short,
So, faster, he worked to build his wicked fort.
Going about his day with desperation,
Always reckless and little consideration.
He hated the ones who served the King,
Because all they did was worship and sing;
For they wielded a strength that he could not break,
They had a faith he could not take,
No matter how much he lurked,
Or how tirelessly he worked.