Woe to you

I was born dead

It was three nights and three hours before full moon

I am The Reaper

There has been found away to brew the pot of Armageddon

When times tell you this it answers to make it happen by wish

Pragmatic the reflection of a Woe, in waters of wisdom and hate, by time

One does make misty eyes winged but now also penetrating

Within the Golden Walls

Man

I see you've got an hypnotic stench

Within your mind

Soul

Strangled, Burnt, Buried and Drowned

Would I let you like the way to spirit any kind of a

"One Last Word"?

Are you preset to sacrifice?

Are you preset to sacrifice?