Deep Shade

As the clock strikes midnight and mist descends, calls shrill the dead of night The dealer of the blackened souls, rubs her hands with such delight Unfortunate the broken ones, the children that will burn Salvation once an option, but to hell on heels they turned From maidens flesh they once were tore, seedlings of the womb The final torment awaits alas, their fire and brimstone tomb. Upon the ground chalk dust lies, pentagram, five point star Chanting in the thickened mist, demons travel from afar. The gathering in dead of night, for collection of the damned The dealer with her shabby mitts, rubs and blows upon her hands From the mist appears a form, unfamiliar, cloaked and dark His words unspoken yet still heard, cut out the victims hearts Torn from the breast as blood still flows, he feeds upon the meat Tossing left overs to the crone, the parts evil failed to reach The ritual collection done, the damned now walking dead Into the depths of torment, unwillingly are led. Beware the deeds on which you thrive, the acts you do and tell For Deep shade is awaiting you, and the destination? Hell.