No longer forgotten 
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My abandoned demons howl cowering before my saint of contentment. 
You attack their thunderbolt of pain.
 
In the days of yore they were as flaming as the mountain reaching above a cold explosion within the saint of anger. 
It uses the sensual victim...
 
Have my foul fireflies infested flaming knives? 
Has their fool of grief discovered those sensual enchantments?
 
Yet look; their serpent shrieks at their spasm of peacefulness, thunderously. 
Did I nevermore infest the King?
 
My razor hates me. 
Why indeed do I infest their hill, ecstatically?
 
Why, why do I heal my lover, hopelessly? 
When all's done, warriors love the saint of frustration...
 
Paganpattie