Death, bringer of
Dreadful, grim injustice
With his cloak built of
And composed of
Woven shadows
And broken dreams
The light playing sickly
Off his blood-stained
Scythe that glows with
The souls of the
Damned and dead
Broken and desperate
Sinners and innocents alike
His sullen, empty eyes
Read no mercy, emotion,
Or sympathy
The only thing that
Drives his soulless form
Is the whip
Snapping in the back of his mind
That is his revenge
Hovering sombrely
Hovering sinisterly
Hovering dutifully
Hovering patiently
Calling the names
Of those whose
Time has ended
So others can begin.