LORD OF THE LYRICS

Words on a rampage;
they'll outlive every age.
I murder words for a living;
death that gives perfect healing.

The blade of a butcher;
no blood, don't bother.
Poetry is my abattoir;
smells like Christian Dior.

The beauty of death;
the enticement of wealth.
A poet as a slayer;
murdered words in layers.

My pen is my sword;
I give life to words.
Words that weave out joy.
Satisfaction remains my ploy.