Walking in the land of the dead,
there’s a song in the head
that keeps humming.
What happened to all these corpses?
Where have their souls fled?
What’s wrong with bloodshed?
How can the devil earn his daily bread?
If he silences the red?
It’s not what he’s made for
He’s not designed to savor sweetness
He’s crafted, like art
To tear apart the hearts
To become evil, in his purest way
He desires to devour the dark
He indeed has the spark
to haunt the devil himself.
He cannot be nice.
It’s against nature,
Not at all his signature
Let darkness guide him
to his destination that defined
his nomenclature.
The end is just the beginning for him.
Where the world buries their pains,
he draws pleasant gains.
He dances to the tunes
of melancholy
beyond the light
where darkness reigns
his mind, body and soul.
This is his destiny,
to take everything in
and weep within.
But remember pal,
he will orchestrate
the deadliest of kills
with his magnificent skills,
the one that you will enjoy
as you breathe your last.
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