The Phantom Coach

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The moon beckons the arrival of the coach,

a dreadful man from the darkest pits of hellish storms.

Crawling from the shadows like a worm-eaten roach,

only death can fathom where he was born.

Tasked with the burden of grand retrieval,

how many lives will he deliver to evil?

On trails of mist, the horses trample through mud-soaked valleys,

submerged in whispering veils of blinding fog.

Plagued by souls of an innumerable tally,

beasts of vengeance feed like hogs.

On wayward paths of flickering blue flame,

leaving scars of sorrow in the wake of the phantom carriage.

Not even the devil could make him tame,

a funeral for lost ones met with disparage.

Wolves sing of their foreboding arrival,

in praise for their dark queen's revival.

Swept away by death-tinged winds,

where the abandoned ruins crumble around the mountain's womb.

Ferried off to the realm of everlasting sin,

like a ship sinking beneath a frigid tomb.

Misery echoes from the castle, men slaughtered like lambs,

suffocated by the grip of frozen dead hands.

Only one shall be chosen to survive,

at the side of the Count as his beloved bride.

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