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Cafe of Monsters
Deep in the depths of Londons great crowd
Hidden away,
The cafe of monsters dwells underground,
Ivy covered cracked walls straight out of hell,
With coffee and cake and souls to sell,
For those who dare to seek such a place,
One must take a journey and fall from grace,

For three long years I've sheltered these fiends,
Those with dark hobbies and questionable means,
Here in my Monster Cafe,

There's the Canibal of Oxford Street,
He sits up there,
enjoying his usual-
Be sure to avoid his stare,

Sitting next to him his killer wife Anne,
Cold and collected,
She writes in those notes with a diabolical plan,

And you see that fellow?,
With the raven cloak looking sly,
Magnus, the man of buisness,
Many wonder if he's a spy,
Spread across three tables,
Is his belongings' favourite place,
With weird and scary objects,
Taking up their righteous space,

Ah! One more thing darling,
Just so you're aware,
His hatred for new blood runs deep,
So don't mind his disgusted glare,
He'll warm up to you I swear,

Instagram: @dark_villainpoetry
© Academia Villian