Cool air.
Gentle breeze.
The scent of death clinging to the wind.
Around everyone is laughing. Everyone is playing.
The reaper dances in silence as he watches the world fall to its knees.
His collection of souls held inside the hour glass of life.
He laughs in silence. He laughs.
Men of sin fall short
Men of virtue stand strong
But the reaper cares not where you stand
Death is a friend to no man.