the angst and pain are the fires that forged me
the hunted becomes the hunter
no small amount of grace to make him sleep
the heavy scars of deeply inflicted wounds serve to remind, not forget
you fools, the death that awaits you behind the door you beat on
the proud, cavalier tread heavy on the thin ice of vengeance
best you not wake that which sleeps
you disturb something that has no remorse, no fear, no limit
blinding rage that burns hotter than the flames of hell
consuming itself and everything around it, consuming you
that which sleeps is from a time of war, a time of death...
that which sleeps only becomes stronger through the ages
it wishes to be left in peace, asleep, but lusts for death in its waking mind
longing to die whilst dealing out death, an honorable death
it is that which sleeps which you fools do not respect
you fools
best you walk silently and pass unnoticed. best you not wake
that which sleeps.
