Moments never last long
Foundation dug on a log
Or those on a solid rock
Cracks and dries like a skull.
Death don’t care about odds
It tangs the red cold blood
At an era of mysterious fog
The wind plays an unfriendly song.
No one knows the mystery fog
It seems peaceful, grey and old,
Spirits grabs the chiefly rod
Obviously, death is a rest accord.
The writing on the wall is so clear
Necropolis block is just so strong
Decorated with blood-sucking bugs
White ceilings blood dripping air.
Death is that breath last heard
A serene abode, grey, black and old
It’s a spirits with a thick chiefly rod
Graveyard; a home with lots of bugs.