Fallen Angels Son

Orphaned child.
The father son and wholly ghost.
I ride upon a pale white horse.
Between the flames of fire an smoke.
Born a fallen angels son revoked.
Who summons me.
From hells depths you invoke.
I rise again from concrete ash and flaming bone.
Twisted souls line my shalowed bowls.
My broken wings bound of knotted rope.
Riding bloody on hollowed grounds.
Arrows fevering for those who spoke.
My patients wears thin on whispering sounds.
Let their voices speak or let them drown.
Below the shadows of my bloody darkness.
The fearless dead soon arose.
Their master sits high upon his throne.
Formed of smoldering chard flesh an gnarly bone.
Crown of iron black thorns and flaming bow.
Overlooking seas of graveyard stone.
All names of them unknown.
Bodies hanging swinging like bells in tow.
Wavering in rotting skies so long ago.
The dead rise from depths below.
Now behold.
This will be my final show.




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