A gryphphin from the cieling hangs, choking are his cries,
While his worshipper Chazori is screaming from a vise.
The bright-red Gryph named Con burbles under yellow sands.
These birds all die togeather by acts of their own hands.

A single bubble shows that Con is now breathing mud,
And to the sound of crunches the press is shooting blood.
The gryphon on the scaffold wishes his neck would break
So he could escape himself from how bad his lungs ache.

Chazori is the first to die, her body's doggie chow,
The last thought of her pancaked brain, "See me now."
The gryph kicking in the air, he's the next to go,
For sans a breath of oxygen his heart is quick to slow.

A rope of cum from hanging gryph drips down onto a tub
Within which is a Con Badger giving his cock a rub.
The feel of breathing liquid? It is just what he wants,
And soon after his orgasm, he joints the other's haunts.