The Lob: A Limerick

“The Lob, the Lob!” they warned me,
“Do not wander out before ye!”
I listened not,
now my skins rot
as the creature must consume me with glee.

I lived in the homely woods, rebellious and young.
With a guitar on my hip, I sang and I strung.
I knew not the dark,
or the wood’s sickly bark
But nobody knew it’s secrets, they were unsung.

So could anyone blame my curiosity?
These woods, they made me roar with ferocity.
They dug into my mind,
It knew I was not kind,
and thus, this Lob, it turned me into it’s monstrosity.

It’s back was sweltered and mounted with hair,
while I looked at it, heavy was the air.
Then it inched along
and with movements wrong,
it wrapped around me and snugly fit itself with care.

It’s chest and face where only an oily mouth,
I felt it’s cold body, it’s skin as a drouth.
And then I became him!
A tail that was grim,
came from my back while my efforts were couth.

Now I am the Lob, so beware, my lads:
Do not be angry, do not be sad.
for the Lob feeds,
to violence it leads,
to malevolence you all create, just a tad.


“And every last inch of me’s covered with hair” would work too (if I counted my rhythm right)

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Doesn’t work because he is describing the Lob, not himself (at least, not yet).