Post by adm on Jul 19, 2008 21:52:02 GMT -6
“For once I finally get the man to talk sense. For once I egged him on enough to get him to actually get upset. I really pushed your buttons and made you lose your cool, and that’s just the beginning, Kole. You see, most people in this place may bow down before you and offer to suck your dick and kiss your ass, but not me. I’m not buyable, not like the whore Kelly Fox. I’m not them and I’m out to prove to you I will do anything inside the Asylum.”
Prophet rests on the grass outside, his body tanning in the sun. This is far beyond what you’d typically expect from Prophet. And here he is, not pale, and out enjoying this beautiful summer day.
“Come on, sit down, I don’t have all day. You got a couple hours to get this footage to NCW before they start setting up for tomorrow night. I aint got the time to **** around.”
Prophet smirks as he pulls the sunglasses on his face up to his hair, which he’s cut for the first time in a long time. It’s almost as if he’s gotten a totally new look, and he looks the best he has in years the day before the most brutal match he’s been in returns for a third time.
“You may wonder why I went and got tan, or cut my hair, or got a manicure and pedicure…I figure, this is the last chance I have to look this pretty. After tomorrow night, I’m gonna be the ugliest mother****er you’ve ever seen. Not saying you’ll make me ugly, but I’m sure I have about a month of healing wounds to do and by that time, it’ll be Winter in Minnesota, so I won’t be able to get a tan. I aint done it in a long time, been too busy training and ****ing around in my hotel. And here we are, you’ve said your piece, and finally said something worth saying. And here I am, after telling you the history and what you are in for, after hearing your beautiful words of disapproval and frustration, sunning myself almost as if you mean nothing. But on the contrary, this is so much darker than you could imagine, Kole. The sun may be shining and my body tanned, but in truth, we’re sitting under a poisoned sky, with radiation burning us to our very souls. The ground is aflame, and so many corpses rot in the Armageddon sun. You’re back in your hotel, or in your gym, while I am here, we’ve traded places. I’ve frustrated you and turned you around, giving me a chance to break the cliché, well…not for long, but for a little while.”
Prophet stands up, and stretches as his large frame casts a long shadow over the green grass. We look around, and he’s in a city park, there are so many children out running and playing with their parents. He looks around, and continues to stretch, before beckoning the cameraman to follow him as he walks.
“The sun beats down, hot and heavy.
And here I am, ripped and ready.
To face you in the Asylum so Heady.
Blowing you away like Ram Jam’s Black Betty.
I’ve taken my knives and swords out of their case.
And to not use my weapons and Asylum would be a waste.
Of all this time, and I still need my can of mace.
I’ll tear you limb from limb, or so they say.
If you believe in God, I suggest you Pray.
For the needle in the Hay. For the words that I do say.
Here within the hottest of days.
Here within the sun I play.
With words rhyming like I’m miles away.
Or maybe I’m just being Gay.
Not the kind of gay you think.
Because if I was that kind my dick would stink.
I swear I’ll beat you with a sink.
The Asylum like a stint in the Clink.
The rusty barbed wire calls us all.
Inside the structure of Hell you’ll fall.
Before me and my crystal Ball.
Seeing you shopping at the Mall.
For a new suit to wear to work.
You’re just a stupid ****ing Jerk.
There’s no guessing what the perk.
And here I am, can’t rhyme with Work.
But confuse you all, is what I do...best.
Don’t wanna **** with my bullet proof…vest.
Gotta get all this **** off my…chest.
Put you in a coffin for eternal...Rest.
Nine inch nails in each your eyes.
For I am a man you despise.
In this match there is no prize.
Unless you walk away with pride.”
Prophet laughs hard, his face turning into a sick grin. He’s enjoying this, confusing even the kids with their parents, around him. He is getting a kick out of the confusion; this sunny day and new “good look” contrasting with the cryptic rhymes he speaks.
“So I went to see the doctor.
I was looking for a cure.
But all he could do was falter.
And send me away with whiskey and beer.
Everyone with their life and cheer.
And here I am, missing my sweet dear.
My dear wife, stuck at home.
And me, forever and wherever I may roam.
Just like a lead pipe to your dome.
Magic moments in the sky.
In the thistles is where I lie.
In the Asylum you better Try.
To take me under or you will die.
Ten little black birds, sitting in a tree.
What do you think, that they see?
Miles of land, full of trees.
With hives on branches, full of bees.
One, two, Coming for you.
Three, four, No Asylum Door.
Five, Six, Barbed Wire Sticks.
Seven, Eight, Death’s Playmate.
Nine, Ten, lets kill you again.
Ring around the Rosies.
Pockets full of Posies.
Ashes, Ashes…
Now I lay you down to sleep.
I pray the lord, your soul he’ll reap.
If you die, before you wake.
I’ll throw you into a fiery lake.
Once there was a black bird, sitting in the vale.
He learned from an old man, this tragic tale.
Of a man full of Kaos, cold, dead and pale.
He got exploded by a bomb, he found in the mail.
His body wasn’t strong, it was so frail.
Frail enough for me to break his bones.
Rip them out to make my thrones.
Thrones made of bones, flesh and ice cream cones.
Sick little things float through my mind.
So many days that you will find.
That I live here, so unkind.
This world is what I leave behind.
For the Asylum, tomorrow night.
When you get there, prepare for a fight.
Fight so hard, use all your might.
Or you will be pain’s delight.
Welcome to the show of death.
I’ll suck away your very last breath.
Or cripple you as I crippled Seth.
Sit little child, on my knee.
When I laugh with such sick glee.
Welcome, welcome, I say to thee.
Burn him down like an old tree.
Forest, Forest, oh so cruel.
Forest, Forest, Kole’s a fool.
Take my sedatives, and you’ll drool.
To take you out I’ll use a tool.
Made of something dark and twisted.
Maybe your rectum will be Fisted.”
Prophet laughs again, at his sick little joke. He stops, for a moment, and stands up. He begins to walk, beckoning the cameraman to follow him. He walks, a few feet away, where he has a couple weapons set on display.
“Here, Kole, look at this.
The weapons which you will not miss.
When they strike you in the face.
Make you such a basket case.
First I introduce my barbed wire chair.
Which I’ll use to bloody your hair.
Then there’s lightbulb white as snow.
After we’re finished, no longer they’ll glow.
And the blood, so thick, you know.
It won’t clot, when you blow.
Then there’s wire of twisted steel.
Of your flesh it’ll make its meal.
With the devil, you’ve made your deal.
And your soul, he will soon steal.
You see you trust in all the wrong things.
And soon you’ll witness what Kaos brings.
Brings upon you things of pain.
Your blood will fall like drops of rain.
And the tears you’ll cry in vain.
Because your brain I’ve made insane.
Kole Kaos, such a mess.
With the silly way you dress.
All those nice suits that get stained.
Dry cleaning’s for losers, you’re deranged.
You are undefeated, that’s a feat.
But soon you will taste defeat.
Yes I know those two rhymed badly.
But you I don’t regret it, sadly.
Maybe I’ve made you…madly.
In love with my rhymes, or with my words.
Or maybe I have just killed the birds.
That lay evil eggs within your head.
Pecking your eyes, not loaves of bread.
A wise old owl, lived in an oak.
The more he saw, the less he spoke.
The less he spoke, the more he heard.
Why can’t you be like that dumb bird?”
Prophet makes a gesture with his hands, like that of a little kid. He’s making a “church” with his fingers.
“Here’s the church, here’s the steeple.
Where impaled you’ll find the people.
Here’s the parson, gone upstairs.
But God no longer hears his prayers.
Pray your last, Kole, pray real hard.
For you are coming to my yard.
Asylum is a sick bard.
With songs sung from Pay Per View’s card.
Twice before it’s left men bleeding.
Do you think you will be succeeding?
In putting me away for good.
You probably think you are some gangster hood.
Coming to gun me down, in some drive by.
But from the ladder onto tables I’ll fly.
Come inside, and there you’ll die.
And go to Hell, you’ll surely Fry.
There was a crooked man, he walked a crooked mile.
He had a crooked dog, and a crooked smile.
And one day he came upon a crooked crocodile.
He wanted to stay a crooked little while.
Where he took his crooked pile.
Of crooked trash, vomit and bile.
He bought a crooked cat and crooked mouse.
And they all lived in his crooked house.
With crooked flames in fireplace he would douse.
Kole, listen and listen well.
Tomorrow night you’ll enter Hell.
From your body I’ll make a well.
Of blood that stains crimson where it fell.
Five little piglets walked into slaughter.
After they ****ed the farmer’s daughter.
But her sister was much hotter.
But she knew no laughter.
This is how the end begins.
Push you away but you keep coming back again.
All your flesh, covered in sin.
Smells like a fish with stinky fins.
I’ll drown in your blood.
I’ll make it a flood.
Sandbagging the mud.
Which slides like cow’s cud.
Clean it up with soap and suds.
Cover white with dirt and crud.
Leave the dead where they lie.
Let them rot, attracting flies.
Soon I’ll have the end for you.
Soon I’ll have the darkness true.
Soon you’ll sing the Asylum’s blues.
Picking from your body clues.
In Darfur the women are used.
As weapons of war, unable to choose.
A safe haven, they are so confused.
Unable to say a word about their abuse.
Or else witness more assault.
Makes them think it’s all their fault.
Spreading AIDS from kid to adult.
Makes you think they are in a cult.
Of violence abuse and salt.
To pour on wounds.
To fill the tombs.
I’m hungry for your blood.
Hungry and must have more.
Of your blood, you are a whore.
Media darling, such a bore.
Cold and cracked eyes.
Black tear falls with no disguise.
Must have more of all your lies.
Rotting flesh attracting flies.
Rusted cage, it steals pained cries.
From your lips, hips and thighs.
Rip your balls from your crotch.
Throw them to the dogs and make you watch.
Then paste a replacement with a swatch.
What in God’s name have you done?
Stick your arm for some more fun.
In the Asylum, no place to run.
Staring down the barrel of my gun.
Will I fire or will I choke?
Well you say I’m one big disgraceful joke.
We’ll see at Last Stand, Kole, what you’ve got.
Going to hell where you’ll rot, rot, rot.
See you soon, Kole my love.
I’ll rip your head off like Ozzy did that dove.
Until then…unpleasant dreams!”
Prophet laughs, before he notices someone calling the cops. He laughs again, before running off. We fade to black.
Prophet rests on the grass outside, his body tanning in the sun. This is far beyond what you’d typically expect from Prophet. And here he is, not pale, and out enjoying this beautiful summer day.
“Come on, sit down, I don’t have all day. You got a couple hours to get this footage to NCW before they start setting up for tomorrow night. I aint got the time to **** around.”
Prophet smirks as he pulls the sunglasses on his face up to his hair, which he’s cut for the first time in a long time. It’s almost as if he’s gotten a totally new look, and he looks the best he has in years the day before the most brutal match he’s been in returns for a third time.
“You may wonder why I went and got tan, or cut my hair, or got a manicure and pedicure…I figure, this is the last chance I have to look this pretty. After tomorrow night, I’m gonna be the ugliest mother****er you’ve ever seen. Not saying you’ll make me ugly, but I’m sure I have about a month of healing wounds to do and by that time, it’ll be Winter in Minnesota, so I won’t be able to get a tan. I aint done it in a long time, been too busy training and ****ing around in my hotel. And here we are, you’ve said your piece, and finally said something worth saying. And here I am, after telling you the history and what you are in for, after hearing your beautiful words of disapproval and frustration, sunning myself almost as if you mean nothing. But on the contrary, this is so much darker than you could imagine, Kole. The sun may be shining and my body tanned, but in truth, we’re sitting under a poisoned sky, with radiation burning us to our very souls. The ground is aflame, and so many corpses rot in the Armageddon sun. You’re back in your hotel, or in your gym, while I am here, we’ve traded places. I’ve frustrated you and turned you around, giving me a chance to break the cliché, well…not for long, but for a little while.”
Prophet stands up, and stretches as his large frame casts a long shadow over the green grass. We look around, and he’s in a city park, there are so many children out running and playing with their parents. He looks around, and continues to stretch, before beckoning the cameraman to follow him as he walks.
“The sun beats down, hot and heavy.
And here I am, ripped and ready.
To face you in the Asylum so Heady.
Blowing you away like Ram Jam’s Black Betty.
I’ve taken my knives and swords out of their case.
And to not use my weapons and Asylum would be a waste.
Of all this time, and I still need my can of mace.
I’ll tear you limb from limb, or so they say.
If you believe in God, I suggest you Pray.
For the needle in the Hay. For the words that I do say.
Here within the hottest of days.
Here within the sun I play.
With words rhyming like I’m miles away.
Or maybe I’m just being Gay.
Not the kind of gay you think.
Because if I was that kind my dick would stink.
I swear I’ll beat you with a sink.
The Asylum like a stint in the Clink.
The rusty barbed wire calls us all.
Inside the structure of Hell you’ll fall.
Before me and my crystal Ball.
Seeing you shopping at the Mall.
For a new suit to wear to work.
You’re just a stupid ****ing Jerk.
There’s no guessing what the perk.
And here I am, can’t rhyme with Work.
But confuse you all, is what I do...best.
Don’t wanna **** with my bullet proof…vest.
Gotta get all this **** off my…chest.
Put you in a coffin for eternal...Rest.
Nine inch nails in each your eyes.
For I am a man you despise.
In this match there is no prize.
Unless you walk away with pride.”
Prophet laughs hard, his face turning into a sick grin. He’s enjoying this, confusing even the kids with their parents, around him. He is getting a kick out of the confusion; this sunny day and new “good look” contrasting with the cryptic rhymes he speaks.
“So I went to see the doctor.
I was looking for a cure.
But all he could do was falter.
And send me away with whiskey and beer.
Everyone with their life and cheer.
And here I am, missing my sweet dear.
My dear wife, stuck at home.
And me, forever and wherever I may roam.
Just like a lead pipe to your dome.
Magic moments in the sky.
In the thistles is where I lie.
In the Asylum you better Try.
To take me under or you will die.
Ten little black birds, sitting in a tree.
What do you think, that they see?
Miles of land, full of trees.
With hives on branches, full of bees.
One, two, Coming for you.
Three, four, No Asylum Door.
Five, Six, Barbed Wire Sticks.
Seven, Eight, Death’s Playmate.
Nine, Ten, lets kill you again.
Ring around the Rosies.
Pockets full of Posies.
Ashes, Ashes…
Now I lay you down to sleep.
I pray the lord, your soul he’ll reap.
If you die, before you wake.
I’ll throw you into a fiery lake.
Once there was a black bird, sitting in the vale.
He learned from an old man, this tragic tale.
Of a man full of Kaos, cold, dead and pale.
He got exploded by a bomb, he found in the mail.
His body wasn’t strong, it was so frail.
Frail enough for me to break his bones.
Rip them out to make my thrones.
Thrones made of bones, flesh and ice cream cones.
Sick little things float through my mind.
So many days that you will find.
That I live here, so unkind.
This world is what I leave behind.
For the Asylum, tomorrow night.
When you get there, prepare for a fight.
Fight so hard, use all your might.
Or you will be pain’s delight.
Welcome to the show of death.
I’ll suck away your very last breath.
Or cripple you as I crippled Seth.
Sit little child, on my knee.
When I laugh with such sick glee.
Welcome, welcome, I say to thee.
Burn him down like an old tree.
Forest, Forest, oh so cruel.
Forest, Forest, Kole’s a fool.
Take my sedatives, and you’ll drool.
To take you out I’ll use a tool.
Made of something dark and twisted.
Maybe your rectum will be Fisted.”
Prophet laughs again, at his sick little joke. He stops, for a moment, and stands up. He begins to walk, beckoning the cameraman to follow him. He walks, a few feet away, where he has a couple weapons set on display.
“Here, Kole, look at this.
The weapons which you will not miss.
When they strike you in the face.
Make you such a basket case.
First I introduce my barbed wire chair.
Which I’ll use to bloody your hair.
Then there’s lightbulb white as snow.
After we’re finished, no longer they’ll glow.
And the blood, so thick, you know.
It won’t clot, when you blow.
Then there’s wire of twisted steel.
Of your flesh it’ll make its meal.
With the devil, you’ve made your deal.
And your soul, he will soon steal.
You see you trust in all the wrong things.
And soon you’ll witness what Kaos brings.
Brings upon you things of pain.
Your blood will fall like drops of rain.
And the tears you’ll cry in vain.
Because your brain I’ve made insane.
Kole Kaos, such a mess.
With the silly way you dress.
All those nice suits that get stained.
Dry cleaning’s for losers, you’re deranged.
You are undefeated, that’s a feat.
But soon you will taste defeat.
Yes I know those two rhymed badly.
But you I don’t regret it, sadly.
Maybe I’ve made you…madly.
In love with my rhymes, or with my words.
Or maybe I have just killed the birds.
That lay evil eggs within your head.
Pecking your eyes, not loaves of bread.
A wise old owl, lived in an oak.
The more he saw, the less he spoke.
The less he spoke, the more he heard.
Why can’t you be like that dumb bird?”
Prophet makes a gesture with his hands, like that of a little kid. He’s making a “church” with his fingers.
“Here’s the church, here’s the steeple.
Where impaled you’ll find the people.
Here’s the parson, gone upstairs.
But God no longer hears his prayers.
Pray your last, Kole, pray real hard.
For you are coming to my yard.
Asylum is a sick bard.
With songs sung from Pay Per View’s card.
Twice before it’s left men bleeding.
Do you think you will be succeeding?
In putting me away for good.
You probably think you are some gangster hood.
Coming to gun me down, in some drive by.
But from the ladder onto tables I’ll fly.
Come inside, and there you’ll die.
And go to Hell, you’ll surely Fry.
There was a crooked man, he walked a crooked mile.
He had a crooked dog, and a crooked smile.
And one day he came upon a crooked crocodile.
He wanted to stay a crooked little while.
Where he took his crooked pile.
Of crooked trash, vomit and bile.
He bought a crooked cat and crooked mouse.
And they all lived in his crooked house.
With crooked flames in fireplace he would douse.
Kole, listen and listen well.
Tomorrow night you’ll enter Hell.
From your body I’ll make a well.
Of blood that stains crimson where it fell.
Five little piglets walked into slaughter.
After they ****ed the farmer’s daughter.
But her sister was much hotter.
But she knew no laughter.
This is how the end begins.
Push you away but you keep coming back again.
All your flesh, covered in sin.
Smells like a fish with stinky fins.
I’ll drown in your blood.
I’ll make it a flood.
Sandbagging the mud.
Which slides like cow’s cud.
Clean it up with soap and suds.
Cover white with dirt and crud.
Leave the dead where they lie.
Let them rot, attracting flies.
Soon I’ll have the end for you.
Soon I’ll have the darkness true.
Soon you’ll sing the Asylum’s blues.
Picking from your body clues.
In Darfur the women are used.
As weapons of war, unable to choose.
A safe haven, they are so confused.
Unable to say a word about their abuse.
Or else witness more assault.
Makes them think it’s all their fault.
Spreading AIDS from kid to adult.
Makes you think they are in a cult.
Of violence abuse and salt.
To pour on wounds.
To fill the tombs.
I’m hungry for your blood.
Hungry and must have more.
Of your blood, you are a whore.
Media darling, such a bore.
Cold and cracked eyes.
Black tear falls with no disguise.
Must have more of all your lies.
Rotting flesh attracting flies.
Rusted cage, it steals pained cries.
From your lips, hips and thighs.
Rip your balls from your crotch.
Throw them to the dogs and make you watch.
Then paste a replacement with a swatch.
What in God’s name have you done?
Stick your arm for some more fun.
In the Asylum, no place to run.
Staring down the barrel of my gun.
Will I fire or will I choke?
Well you say I’m one big disgraceful joke.
We’ll see at Last Stand, Kole, what you’ve got.
Going to hell where you’ll rot, rot, rot.
See you soon, Kole my love.
I’ll rip your head off like Ozzy did that dove.
Until then…unpleasant dreams!”
Prophet laughs, before he notices someone calling the cops. He laughs again, before running off. We fade to black.