Cold fear that I am doomed:
Baby’s in black and flies on a broom.
Hell seems close. . .rats in my room.

She thinks of Him with hosts of devils in pack.
In ghostly revels lips smack. . .eating gross snacks.

Cold fear that once-entombed
Crazed will attack while I’m in my room.
Hell seems close. . .bats near me zoom.

I think of her, but she thinks mostly of Him
Whose tail is long, red, and slim;
She stinks of brim[stone].

Oh, how wrong ’twas to make out,
Compound the mistake and get laid.

Fear that I am doomed—
Baby on back. . .creature in her womb,
Hell seems close as cells mushroom.

She’s linked to Him, and so she let me in sack
To poke her bestial crack; now I’m guilt-wracked.

So cheers come from her room:
Baby’s extract-ed; commonweal’s doomed.
Hell’s real close; gat I’ll assume.