Alone, without love, he is forced to
Bury his sorrow deep in his chest,
Where oft his writhing wretchedness
Fetters and suffocates all feeling.
All who have bore it also know what
A sour friend sorrow can seem.

His thoughts work as quickly as his loathing or his trigger.
He returns to his domain, pleased by the last slaughter.
Yet, he longs for loved ones, renewing his grief.
Silhouettes of his lost ones take shape in the silence.
In rapture and glee, he greets them, but they melt away.

Even in his sleep, sorrow assails and ails him,
For in dreaming, he holds his dearest again.
But gone now is the happiness when he wakes
From his slumber, numb and all but lonely-hearted.
Sadness is flung at him like a stone through glass.
And sorrow piles-up at his door, without sign of solace.

Yet, he continues to bring terror to the darkness.
Death has always been his fate – his errand.
His heart relishes the thought of tearing life from their frames.
He arrives, rips the demons apart, and shatters the damned souls.
He shoots them down and drains the blood from their veins,
Body and soul, on the stone, with silent cries of agony.

Then, Death’s mighty jaws crash down upon them,
Not only breaking body, but snapping life SHUT.
Courage and bravery are honorable, but all is wasted
As they are swept away, shrieking, to the sinful,
And eagerly waiting hands of even more horrifying monsters.

But he, being also man, has wasted this Earth
Until all sounds of gladness and life are quelled
And bright days spent as if they never had existed.
Then, nightly shadows fall, enveloping the Earth.
So, his smoldering ruins lay, emptied of life and will
As he sadly gives-in to the grave’s cold embrace.