Ja, jeg skrev den her:
Melodi: Højt fra træets grønne top
Højt fra træets svedne top
Dingler elverfolket
Orkerne, de holder fest
Alle bliver dolket
Giv mig blot en sprødstegt arm
Pas nu på, for den er varm
Når en ork, han fester
Er der mange gæster
Se, Fyrste, nu går det godt
Du forstår at slave
Ellers får du øksehug
Som din julegave
Ups, der gled mit sværd vist lig'
Sikke dog den fyr ka' skrig'
Han holdt ikke længe
Uden sine penge
Sortelverne er på vej
De har medbragt gaver
Dværgekød til flæskesteg
Og så et par slaver
Hvad du ønsker, skal du få
Når jeg blot kan stole på
At du strammer garnet
For at kvæle barnet
Og her er et link til en sang med Richard, som er helt fantastisk:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fcbazH6aE2gTeksten:
Excitement abounds
I almost can't wait
Relax, I don't want your baby
I already ate
Though I do tend to generally kill
Kill things that don't fight back
I see this village
What does it hold?
What shall I butcher them with
Fire or cold?
Running from me sure you'd think
'He's a pathological bloodthirsty homicidal maniac!'
I'd kill kittens and puppies and bunnies
I'd maim toddlers and teens and then more
You see a wife? I see a widow
But what then?
Can't you see?
I'd kill four!
I want to incinerate and decapitate
I want to melt
Want to melt some faces
Watching the peasants...what do they call it?
Ahh...grieve!
I suppose that being undead there's not much to life
A soul is needed for loving...feeling...
How does this all not make me...what's that word again?
Heave!
You've nowhere to hide
Nowhere to run
Your village will burn like the heart of the sun!
With infinite glee
It's going to be me
That slaughters the world!
How could I glare into these eyes
And then not stab them?
How could I stare at their loss
And then not laugh?
I'd cut him in half
Then I'd graft
His head back onto his shoulders
Or after I'd lop it
I'd make a puppet
On top of a staff!
I am a lord that is sometimes bored
Have some urges and need to fulfill them
After my mayhem I simply don't...what's the word?
Care!
The stench in the air
The smell of the gore
The carnage far greater than any war
My legacy
Death becomes...me!
I'll slaughter the world
_________________
"The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hiherto harmed us little; but someday the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our fearful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age."
- H.P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu
Morten C. K. Olsen