Disclaimer: I don't own Slayers.
Notes: I also don't know what possessed me...

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Ode To A Wielded Mace
by Nightfall
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O favored toy of miscreant's skill
Stout guardian of a lady's shrill
And hasty Virtue, and her placid state,
Companion fair when she's irate
How quick my heart when you are near
And mark, I pray, the sheer
Abandon which informs my breath,
Makes wide my eyes—I invite death
To touch your lovely face again
And I alone of Fortune's men
Possess the bait to tempt you close.
To banish that which is morose
Is all my joy. It matters naught
Should gloom's replacement be the hot
And tempered fury's roar,
Nor yet a merry crowing, for
Inciting chaos is my bliss
And if the girl can't deal with this
Then let us once again embrace:
Your spiky length upon my face,
For clowns care not what fate they've won;
From only gloom and boredom run,
Nor rightful agony will shun;
A laugh I love, but when all's done,
Your lady's wrath is lots of fun.