Cadaverous winds touch the scythe,
Blew the scent of misery onto my path.
Humanity lies of the false leaders,
I row towards my own demise.
Grinding pain sears the wound,
Gushing blood a faint reminder of the past.
Painting an immortal picture with the knife,
When did you figure yourself to be god?
Resenting and condescending,
You stood afar from it all.
Misty breath sprayed venom of the dead,
Enticing and enchanting us all to sin