This is the sound of fear;
a chime to the demise that draws near.
Heed not the bumps on thy skin,
for, death shall come from within.

This is the sound of pain;
the resound of unending refrain.
A choir of malicious dismay,
and dystrophy heralds the fray.

This is the sound of defeat;
the futile drone of retreat.
An elegy drawn to condemn,
and bring forth a most graceless end.

This is the sound of death;
the last irrevocable breath.
The pause in the last fingered string
that strums, and ends everything.

I bequeath the Chorus of Hell.
'tis a mastery, I do pray tell.
Listen to the gospel of fright
that trembles the mare-laden night.

And out from the timely demise,
bears that which none could surmise.
Renascence draws from within,
so the chorus may hail once again.