In half light of the witching hour
A son sits all alone
Weaves curses to his fathers name
And carves it on a stone

With his own blood he traces runes
That turn as black as oil
Digs a hole that's six feet deep
And plants it in the soil

Far away the hated sire
A fortress sleeps within
He's turned a sons mother's bed
Into a place of sin

No grief no shame for what he's wrought
For the torment of his son
On soiled silk with mistress lies
On swift wings Azrael comes

The father wakes and rubs his eyes
He reaches for his cup
As is his wont within the night
On ruby wine he sups

His face reflects his blackened heart
He struggles hard to breath
Deep within his body now
The warlock's venom seethes

Now all can see for themselves
The vengeance of the just
Six feet down within the ground
The stone crumbles to dust