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The Bog People

de Nunslaughter

Deep in the heart of a wasteland fen
Lies a twisted skein of urbanity
For generations these morose creatures
Impure the manners of all humanity

Marquis of this quagmire
His kin the squad
Eating human rations
Feed people of the bog

A marshland of fear
Lurking in the fog
Consuming these denizens
The people of the bog

Now their existence is know
The populace forms a thirsty mob
To exterminate the rabid cannibals
They call the people of the bog

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