Satan

Upon his head a pair of horns,
Sharper than the sharpest thorns.
And then his claws,
The way many a foe falls.

His eyes are blood red,
Anyone disliked is instantly dead.
His mouth in an evil grin,
To even speak of it is a sin.

And as his nostrils flare,
Even the bravest beware,
His soul darker than night,
There lies no entry for light.

You wouldnt come near him with a 20-foot pole,
Or you would be sucked into his pitch black soul.
And Im sorry to say,
That you will die today.

For you've read this rhyme,
Its now your time.
Enter the hole,
My pitch-black soul.