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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Death · #1232935
Gruesomeness
I walk underthe vail of night;
Killing thoes who are born of light.
Seeing only what I seek;
Watching from the mighty peak.
Of the beast am I bread;
Of mortal flesh am I fead.
Bringing death upon the land;
Pestalence flows from my hand.
Wretched are thoes who die;
Listen to the babies cry.

I start my work you scream in pain;
No one hears 'cus its all in vain.
I tear into your flesh;
I turn it into mesh.
Your bowels hit the floor;
from you they are tore.
Help screams your dying breath;
But God can't save you from this death.
Wretched are thoes who die;
Listen to the babies cry.
Now you feel no pain;

While your blood falls like rain
The bels call for you to come;
down the road to Hell you run.
Tolling in your head;
Wishing you were dead.
Searing flesh you feel the fire;
Down you fall on the spire.
Wretched are thoes who die;
Listen to the babies cry.
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