Slimy wet rose upon white bone was held within his hands
Freshly skinned skull staring back at him from his palms with hollowed eyes
The smell of victory abounds
The sounds of mortal screams echoed all around
He stood proud and tall and that wasn’t all
His victims heart had only just stopped – the fool
Fool to think he could do him down
That he could win the war
But he showed this fool he was wrong and his heart is now on the floor
Too many have suffered the same fate
But many believe they are strong
And now they lie in a deathly sleep
And their families mourn their song
A pile of skin by the killer’s feet is a sentiment of his fate
For one should not believe they can burn the devil’s gate
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