Death

To gaze inside the blackened tomb,

through veiled, bleak and darkest gloom.

Step inside if you dare.

Fear no souls, eyeless stares.

Ghosts of past departed lives,

hopes and dreams cut out with knives.

Intrepid are those who dare to pass.

He, that is cloaked, will hold death's mass.

With sickle in hands of ageless bone,

he reaps all souls, each one alone.

Your trip into the hell of brimstone and fire,

will burn your flesh, cremate desire.

Time is the past, the end now here,

abide in death, consume your fears.

Alone you will stand, before Damnation's gate,

Death has won, for you, it is too late.