No1

To none

Whom here could read my poems? 
Amongst the leprous rot in Rome, 
That would be my rightful home. 
Perhaps I'll be taken in by gnomes, 
I hear they've got the nicest lairs. 
Changelings made, 1 last despair. 
Will you save us from this lot, 
The one with firy locks instead of hair? 
No way. Stand up to them? He wouldn't dare 
The only belief worth conceiving is that of naught 

My children, fear not, for chaos is gone 
As for armageddon, that chapter is done. 
Babalon, that b*tch has given me her vows. 
Best you forget, leave the fight to the crows.