In darkest tomes, where shadows creep,
A book of lore, secrets to keep,
The Necronomicon, its name revered,
Whispers of ancient, forbidden seer.
From depths unknown, where madness thrives,
H.P. Lovecraft, his pen connives,
He weaves a tale, with words arcane,
Unveiling horrors, sanity's bane.
Within its pages, eldritch might,
Unveiling realms, beyond the light,
The Great Old Ones, their slumber deep,
Their dreams encased in maddening sleep.
Cthulhu rises from the abyss,
An elder god, whose touch is bliss,
But mortals tremble, their souls dismayed,
As sanity's veil begins to fade.
Nyarlathotep, a shape-shifting muse,
Spreading chaos, no one can refuse,
With whispered promises, deceitful wiles,
He lures the innocent with wicked smiles.
Azathoth, the blind and mindless dread,
A cosmic chaos, devouring dread,
His flute's melody, a maddening sound,
In which lost souls forever are bound.
Yog-Sothoth, the gatekeeper of realms,
Whose tendrils reach through cosmic helms,
Through time and space, his knowledge vast,
Unlocking secrets, the present and past.
Oh, Necronomicon, ancient grimoire,
Unleashing terrors, fear and dire,
Inscribed in blood, on pages old,
A testament to powers untold.
But heed this warning, oh seeker brave,
For knowledge sought may dig your grave,
The forbidden lore, a double-edged sword,
Madness and chaos, your mind ignored.
So tread with caution, mortal soul,
The Necronomicon's mysteries untold,
For in its depths, dark whispers sway,
And your sanity may be the price to pay.
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