At The Midnight Hour (The Souls Of Man) Poem by William Mowell

At the midnight hour
To hell the souls of men
Sharpshooters at the devils tower
Snipe the innocents shins

Fire & brimstone consume their souls
No longer to be called men
Their skin black as coal
Burnt from limb to limb

They could not escape their fate
As the devil sits and laughs
The hour of reckoning too late
Into the lake of fire they are cast

Zombies, living dead, or ghouls
Call them what you may
Those who fight are only fools
Your soul is the price you pay

Hero's will fall and more will rise
Craving the flesh of man
Left are only maggots and flies
No green grass only sand