End of Time End of Time I cannot happen a way around, Searching high but go low, Fighting where the soul wont go. In the world, a corrupted ghost, Hoping for his baneful most, Tears away the golden views, As golden dreams atomic number 18 shatte cherry too. The ghosts tell stories of all who came - Dead, alive, blind, and lame. What he said I did not like, An unearthly hand testament destroy the night, cleanup all with demonic might. Down the turn over of the soul, Broken finger cymbals and blackened blood Consume the stain and all who roam, rive apart these earthly places As the tear run from their faces.
Their faces atomic number 18 bruised and blackened beat, trim scourged From the heat. Gnashing teeth and thrashing claws, Ripping the children with their paws. The eyeball be red and soaked with pain. No hope, all lost, cryptograph remains. The worlds are turned, amidst, betwixt, Mans positions are surely switched - ...If you want to get a full essay, run it on our website:
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