The avatar of the avenger,
The shadow of the reaper,
The pale, clammy face of Death,
Walks unhindered among
Blind, unknowing masses.
Counting.
Counting heads, counting hours.
Keeping time with heartbeats,
Keeping track of when to
Unwind their time.
Before the first birth
Was born the thirst of the
Ghost, stalking amongst
Rocks and rivers, appetite
Awake, with terrible thirst to
Slake, restless, ever-waiting.
Waiting for the souls to
Come and, having become, they
Then as now, be the fondest
Food of doom.…
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