An ode to Stephen King.
His chaos is witful in painful fun.
He brings the horror to the death of the sun.
Towers red and black fall before his mighty pen.
The one that is split can become whole again.
Writers... book owners... priests all pray, When Stephen King
comes out to play.
He is the king who burns bright red.
He is the one in the black of dead.
He is the Gunslinger.
He is the Dinh of horror.
He is the one they fear.
As the howl of pain is all they hear.

Plagues of death; battles of honor.
No one in his stories say "On Donor!"
Wide awake. Watching them walk
All the while trusting their clocks.
A thinny is heard a scream rings out
He is the winner of all the bouts.
He is the king of all the hours.
He is the king at the top of the tower.
He is the king bow to his power.

Crazy clowns Irish priests deadly men and boys of cold
Never does his wit grow old.
See the king of great skill he makes no trouble getting his kill.
Stephen King the winner of darkness
Stephen king ... strap on your harness.
Stephen king here comes the terror
Stephen King..... No room for error.

-Say Thankya Big-Big