Wordman21
 24000
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CATEGORY
just different
The shadowed figure quietly drifts across into the dreams of those who sleep,
Its grim face illuminated by its' own ghastly light;
Yet as it lifts its' head towards its' intended soul, thy face of grim, softens into a
smile.
And with a hand it reaches out, with deception, without a doubt, for as one's soul
takes thy hand, the changes began.
For the soul not yet already to die, has lost its' final cry for time,
And again ...
Death Has Had no Mercy on One's Soul.
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