A casting shadow
Brined arches of Hell
The camp meat.
A seated Hades, afrose
A sprawling ribbed throne
Hairs of heat, flames of red
He says, succumb, succumb
Succumb.
A window exposed
Be rode, a path sticks
The camp meat.
The camp meat.
A small tender dish, rattle
A copper, a silver, no green
His henchman has no quiver
He knows succumb, succumb
Succumb.
The
Camp
Meat.
Garden Path 