In the dreary shadows of midnight's shroud,
Heed this ominous plea, a whispering crowd.
Should you decline to subscribe, beware,
Gnomes shall weave a sinister affair.
In stealth, they'll snatch your socks away,
As a tempest brews, a blizzard's dismay.
Your exposed feet, in frost's cruel kiss,
Shall succumb to bitter, freezing abyss.
A chill shall seep, a morbid dread,
As gangrene's grip upon you is spread.
Sepsis, the silent harbinger of demise,
Shall claim you with its venomous cries.
Subscribe, oh mortal, to escape this fate,
For in this macabre tale, it's too late.
Gnomes and blizzards, a dire decree,
A darkened prophecy, heed and be free.