Land of the Dead

Behold! A land writhing in cold prophecies untold, uttered by the foolish and the bold. Where the darkest of clouds swirl and unfold to reveal a land ripe with a decay uncontrolled. Forevermore stained in the wet contorted hues of crimson red where life continues, if not broken, as a soulless token To this, what else can truly be said? if not instead about that particular dread; Behold! The wondering damned, to their graves by the nose were they led Whose dark blood flows through the limbs of the living and the dead. Wretched denizens of damnation, upon lands no mortal shall explore to dare. Uttering their pathetic lamentation, a morbid unholy prayer. Together in conjoined suffering of no delay, do they share the putrescent smells rancid and fresh from decay, so taint the air, a foul stench too much to bare. Deeper betwixt that ethereal black mountain of dark waters and darker fountain. From this a city rises dark and abrupt Seeking to consume and corrupt.