We, The Dead…

For “WE” are the ones crying afar…
Our swords are made of words, words that wounds not the deaf…
We have no wings nor have we got them rides…
Our Valkyries are frozen tears, drying up at the heat of blazing cannons…
Our horses are dreams of a stillborn hope, slaughtered at the altars of filth and greed…

Death is only real for we have chosen to embrace it, but for them…
It shalt not be but an eternal shame and an endless pain beyond the seven depths of Hell…

Then for those it is but a wish… For death now hovers above headless children and towerless temples… The smell of flesh and the warmth of blood only draws a nearer end for the slaughter…

But Death serves not the fearless souls of the free, for the blade of the tyrant aghast he obeys…

Death comes to him who fears him not… And him we all shall praise… Glory to the dead…

H.Q.
01:30
Mon 01/08/2011