Down Among the Deadmen Rise

Down among the deadmen rise a fiend of pitch and crimson eyes it burns in rage and pained hunger it walks although it breathes no longer it is a Thing from Not, a thing that shouldn't be but yet it lives in unliving, undead agony Upon dead root and spoiled, rotted earth a thing that died before its birth no soul, no life, just endless hate it walks this dirt when the day is late it comes for ruin and darkest wrath passing through the gravestoned path