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.
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