Creville Asylum (Bardic)

By: Leron Posted on: March 30, 2012

I've heard of a place, in the Vashnars far west
Abandoned, they say, though it's not
House to the living, though may be called dead
By any man who will give it a thought.

It's Creville Asylum, the place of bad cures
Where sickness becomes vicious lust
Surrounded by snakes, lived in by far worse
Surrendered to time, dirt and rust.

I've heard of a virgin, tortured by surgeon,
the priests far too gleamed out to care.
An imp with a limp, the nurses look worse,
And sickness is thick in the air.

When you walk through the halls, be sure to be silent
For attention's a fate worse than death,
For skilled in their healing, the doctors try hard,
To elongate your last, tortured breath.

Turn around, run away, but don't take the machine,
The basement awaits you below,
It's filled to the brim with men to do you in
So up to the roof you will go.

You'll see the whole courtyard, the plants closing in,
The man sees you arive and begins
To make your aquaintance, you must be a new patient
And surely he'll take you within

You'll struggle at first, the man will do his worst,
But eventually learn to give in,
And maybe next time someone hears of this rhyme,
you'll be the man behind the sick grin.