Banshee B-F'ed

Floating inside my head,
This specter of chivalry's delight;
Yet made sport of
By own lewdness and fantasy
....If I could but pluck
This cancer off my brain,
Then tumor cook
In cauldron wet boil.
(I need to see
The banshee suffer.
After, to vapor translate,
Screaming profanity away.)
For specters loom and only due
To hearers', fearers' fright.
Bend them over bottom bared
And screw the mu'fu' t'nayt!