The bastard

The bastard wears a grotty grin
Walks in shuffle across the floor
Knows nothing of the shadows' sin
A ghost or ghoul behind winds' door

White and craggy are his lines
Pointy nose upon sunken face
As evil sits on poisoned crimes
To hells' domain in dusty lace

Why, a feline sits upon me lap
Soothing out the woken wishes
Before he brings his brand of crap
For evils' fate deserved and vicious

Sigh life,
from where does hail the western witch
Whom destiny brings
on white lips' death,
A wolf now scarred by
sanguine stench
These bloodied thorns
and mortal less