The Skull
The Skull is bathed in unbroken gloom
And in it many demons loom
Tortured souls of many dead
All who had been evil led
Alone in a room on a stone carved throne
Sits the Warlock Berilious Bone
Robed in white and hooded from view
A face that is seen by only a few
All that is not hidden from sight
Are those large red eyes that burn so bright
For of the underworld he is Lord
And he does not rule by axe or sword
Magic is the way he rules
Forgotten are all other tools
A thousand demons he does guide
None would ever leave his side
Slaves they are everyone
You would think he was the Devil’s son
Maybe he is you can never tell
But I wish he would fall back to Hell
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