Black for the hunting through the night,

For death the colours white,

Gold for a bride in her wedding gown,

And red to bring the enchantment down,

White slik when our bodys burn,

Blue banners for when the lost return,

Flame for the birth of Nephilim and wash aways our sins,

Grey for the knowledge best untold,

Bone for those who don't grow old,

Saffron lights the victory march,

Green to mend broken hearts,

Silver for the demon towers,

And bronze to summon wicked powers.

A shadow hunters poem

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Invictus by W.E Henley

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to ploe,

I tank whatever gods my be for my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance i hav not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance,

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears,

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years,

Finds, and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate;

I am the captain of my soul.

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WITHIN TEMPTATION LYRICS

"Pale"

The world seems not the same
Though I know nothing has changed
It's all my state of mind
I can't leave it all behind
I have to stand up to be stronger

[Chorus]
I have to try
To break free
From the thoughts in my mind
Use the time that I have
I can say goodbye
Have to make it right
Have to fight
'Cause I know in the end it's worthwhile
That the pain that I feel slowly fades away
It will be all right

I know
I should realize
Time is precious
It is worthwhile
Despite how I feel inside
Have to trust it'll be alright
Have to stand up to be stronger

[Chorus]

Oh, this night is too long
Have no strength to go on
No more pain I'm floating away

Through the mist I see the face
Of an angel, calls my name
I remember you're the reason I have to stay

[Chorus]

Death The Leveller

By: James Shirly

The glories of our blood and state All shadows, not substantial things; There is no amour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings; Sceptre and crown Must tumble down And in dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade

Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels were they kill; But there strong nervesnat last must yield; They tame but one another still; Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their mumuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death

The garlends wither on your brow Then boast no more your mighty deeds! Upon Death's purple altar now

Okie dokie i was thinking that maybe i should get something up here about my self... It"s called a bio for a reason!!!!!!!