Book of Death

On the death gods pedestal,

Lays the demonic black book,

Written within the names of long past.

What may never be known

Can never be found,

A purity of its own

Tainted black by the night.

Timely days moving forward restlessly

As the night and its relentlessness,

Slays the sun and moon.

In the reign of darkness,

There steadily grows,

A small insignificant hope,

Called humanity.

But the Gods of fate

Stand high in pride,

They steal your name,

Your soul, your hide.

Black clouds gather past,

In the long forgotten world,

Layed thick with sadness,

For the ever forgotten world.

The book still stands tall,

On that dark pedestal

Laying in wait

For the god of death to return

A book full of hate,

For the ever kind,

A book where the kindred,

Will parish by name,

A book colored red.