The Slow Rot

The slow rot
lived or died, it's hard to tell
And fires lost away — down to hell
And as wind trow to take — hero's hearth
To slimy lair — past danger's berth

The shepherd, lay, in drunken stupor
As wind waste fire back away
So the nimble thief he plot to fire hold
To rob chilly's empty hall of filth and cold

Through rot and ruin barely seeing
In darkness scarce light flickers fleeing
So journeyed Bound in circles round
The hunter searched, following found

Winged death, stumbling, the cripple come!
The slow rot, silent, cold and numb
All gravid full of piss and shit
He bit, swallowed, spit

But thief rallied, brandished knife and struck
Yet the wound was
Not hot and bleeding — but rotting, eating
The orc only coughed and shook
And yet more the cunning man he ate and took

Hands deep pocketed inside his guts
The thief struck with cuts and cuts
And heart in hand took torch to scour
So doctor kills doctor kills doctor's power!