If I could kill all but the god
From the signs of Death’s hands,
I would know nothing
About the lies of the reaper.
If the reaper were made by
God I would know
This was a confrontation where a god
If I could look down but nothing
Holy I would know
About the Death’s hands and I could kill
The lies remaining and god of
Death’s hands, the reaper
My soul was a wisp with blood
In a deep withdrawal and daunting darkness.
I could fill the abundant requests with courage.
And keep death’s hands among the fiery
Depths of the after-life, among the
Daemons of their dreary holes.
I could kill Death’s hands in my loyalty
And put down the lies with pure might in the depths
The dirty blood between my figures
I could crush the despicable souls who always lie colossally
About life especially in Death’s hands with its wrinkled palms
So I must slash across the palms to kill the reaper evil monarchy.
If I could kill the one thing that killed kindly souls,
I would strike what was unholy
To this very day, I would kill Death’s hands
Life from death-like the misunderstood disowned
Archangels of the war of heaven
Or the heavenly funeral, that closed heavenly
Doors and forsaken man-kind.
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