Hymn to Garaaga

Garaaga, father devil, he whose spit
Dissolveth Adamantium, we pray
Thee, slaver not. Thy drool, when
It spews fourth, it melteth stone back down to clay,
And renders all these vessels, all these pots
In which the blood of victims, offered up
To thee, Garaaga, starts to leak in spots,
Quite useless things, and how then may you sup?
Garaaga, thou whose snot, when it congeals,
We sculpt into explosive statuettes,
Take thou this handkerchief. And when it heals,
That weeping sore, its pus, the way it sets,
When ground, can banish faeries! Truly you,
Garaaga, are the god of godly goo!