The Finger Od Death

In a dead night a dead moon
Glares upon dead earth
Dead men lying all around
Sail soaked with rotting fluids
Death has reaped its crop
It has not missed a single creature
Let them quickly discover
Whether their mythical world exists
Stench of decay, the wind has died
Time has died in this vile place
Ya tread forth, Grim reaper
I tread with you
In the majesty of deathly cold