• Hell bent, a lie that embodies the masses.
    Overused, a joke that kills all that it encompasses.
    Fragile, feeble minds feed on the hearts of the eager.
    Thoughtless, cold...These mortals fear the Reaper.
    He is silent and deadly, but completes the mission at all costs.
    Wrapped in the furrows of his black robe, the battle has been lost.
    Some say there are ways of cheating death,
    but I know otherwise and have felt the Reaper's wrath.
    His scythe is cold, and the blade is acid.
    The look on his face is solemn, almost placid.
    His eyes are cold and dark as coal,
    as he completes his ultimate goal in collecting your soul.
    The bony fingers of his skeletal hand clutch your bloody skull.
    Religion dies this day, and faith is no more.
    There will be no processions, no ceremonies in store.
    The death of the eager is no death to mourn
    We mindless mourn not those who lead lives of scorn.
    We are cold as the reaper, and he is our keeper.
    He is our king and we are his people.
    He is the church and we are his steeple.
    We serve him proudly and in turn we do not worry.
    The minds of the eager are not equal to our own
    and in this silent, solitary death they are shown
    that the power of the Reaper is far greater than theirs.
    This personification of death is not the grand act they once believed,
    but life in itself, real as can be.
    If there is fear in death, they must surely feel it,
    and if there is feeling in death, they must surely know it.
    They must know this fear,
    this fear of the Reaper that we all hold dear.
    And listen to the bells toll, another execution draws near.
    The child walks quietly down the path
    lined with the skulls of infants, right into his trap.
    The Reaper's scythe is sharp and ready
    but it's the guillotine who's hand is more than steady.
    To the gallows he walks, a young eager heart,
    released from the body he was not ready to part.
    The Reaper's chuckle fills hell with an uneasy murmur
    and the fire burns hotter, increasing our fervor.
    The flames lick our faces and melt us from within,
    but souls as are surely have been hardened by sin.