Mine soul is a dozen corpses,

Putrid, stagnant and rotten decay.

Mine soul is naught but relapses,

Wish and pray, Moving towards the blade.

Morose clouds gather over the city we love,

Morbid fear, agony in the shadows,

They bring pain and darkness from above,

And the world is a million of Archers' arrows.

Mine soul writhes

in torture of many years,

and the demons wield their many scythes

and cut mine soul with razor'd shears.

The sweet stench of blood

fills the acrid air.

when it rains, the poison dust is mud,

and all who tread there die; enter if you dare.

Mine soul fades into dust,

I'll soon dissolve into nothing!

Life corrodes me into a brittle rust,

leaving only a dark, bloody ring.

Malevolent spirits  whisper in mine ears,

Demons chant horrid curses and hexes. EVIL! EVIL!

they make sure I hear them and have done so for years.

I'm going to lose myself in this upheaval!

Mine soul is broken to pieces,

I am losing my way.

Demons pull from every direction with many leashes

but still, I find nothing to say.

Mine soul is a dozen corpses,
Putrid, stagnant and rotten decay.
Mine soul is naught but relapses,
Wish and pray, Moving towards the blade.

Screaming echoes inside this head,

a banshee wails aghast.

Many times I just feel dead.

I feel my wounds, my final deeds are my last.