Dark Lord

In the land of the dead,

On the path of the blood,

Amidst the bone scattered ground,

Lies majestically the throne of,

The Dark Lord.

Sceptre of death in his hand,

Marching forward shaking the ground beneath,

Waking the dead in turn,

On the throne with fiery eyes, sat,

The Dark Lord.

Ghouls screamed his praise,

Hurled the bones on the throne,

Like petals of flower.

Pleased with the welcome, thunders

The Dark Lord.

Cowards and the brave, scared alike,

Cried and pleaded to spare them,

Their cries and pain, went unheard,

Cold was the heart of,

The Dark Lord.

He takes no blame,

He has no shame nor any mercy.

Being cursed and hated forever,

Unloved and uncared, laughs 

The Dark Lord.

Despises nobody,

With just death as his companion,

Time his messenger,

Who informs your end to,

The Dark Lord.

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