In New England hamlets old tomes are read
That would make all good clergymen tremble.
Performing rituals to call up things
Unholy participants assemble.
On All Hallow's Eve they loose strange creatures
Bearing names near impossible to speak.
Tentacled horrors with inhuman features
That would herald a future most bleak.
Yog-Sothoth, Cthulhu and old St. Toad,
Plus the horror that is not to be named,
Would have us walking on a doomsday road
'Till all vestiges of spirit are tamed.
Their minions betray us, death to them all!
And to all sick fools that answer their call.
© 1997 Ron Shiflet
First Appearance: Mythos Online #5
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