Of course, it's your prerogative to give this rhyme a title. See that itself is a title. It ain't Untitled, anymore!

I'm daemon buster
How's that . . . . ?
My avalanches -- My Twisters.
Your witches vroomed out on their brooms.
Leaving you like fair weather friends? Left for dead huh
Shooting stars mushroomed eh?
Were those scuttling for shelter -- are those your WitchCraft Practitioners?

She's My Lightning Bug. Hmm. Yep.
You ain't that lucky as Mister Roy Sullivan.
You diabolic chameleons.
I'm Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin's reincarnation
Same Hunter -- But Different Predator.
i.e. You: Centipedes -- Lemmings and devlishly slimy Salamanders.
Go, hide under the bed -- before it gets a wee bit more murkier.
Don't wail your dead -- Grieve the unburied soul of your half-dead corpse.
That's a Soldier's word.
Don't wimp -- Don't cringe -- As they say it: There's no such thing as fear. Only fearful thoughts.
You: The Reader of Book of Lies -- Followers of Satanic insights --
Don't tell me that you're being weaned off.
You're given The benefit of the doubt -- Zillions of times. Day and Night.
Chieftans and False Messiahs of Satanic Cults and Tribes.
Believers are here. And, we strike you with a sword -- Evil Sorcerers.
We won't let you repent.