The Angel of Death
Satan sends me knocking at your door
I'm not something you can ignore
My job is to gather the souls of men
On my arrival I want you then
With one sweep of my scythe I separate the soul
I drag you down into that deep black hole
You know it's the end
I'm not the fiend
You did this to yourself
With all your greed and wealth
I'm the Grim Reaper
I'm the Angel of Death
I have just one thing left to say
"There is no hunting like the hunting of man."
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryI've decided to move all my poetry to this magic little group...if you are looking for any of that creepy stuff.
