Deathwalker Poem by patrick rich

When he swings his axe
his enemies fall
when he swings his axe
they hear the call.

The call of Death
is what he brings
the call of Death
is what he sings.

The flesh and blood
of kings with crowns
will fall before him
to stain the ground.

His axe they say
is possessed by Him
the demon of flame
that comes from within.

It thirsts for blood
it calls for war
on this field of mud
to knock on Death's door.