The Death.

Dark are the heaven, the moon,
and all the things above.
There's putrid smell of unliving things,
rising up of the road.

It's the Death,
owner of everything,
witch comes for us all.

There's darkness, and loneliness,
and heart-breaking pain,
the sky spills it's sorrow,
pouring, calmaly, it's the rain.

It's the Death,
owner of everything,
witch comes for us all.

The night scary creatures,
oh, such insolent creatures,
laugh while torment the dreams,
of the poor souls with no future.

It's the Death,
owner of everything,
witch comes for us all.

Silently it aproaches, quickly for those,
crushed to the wall,
faded to finally fall and fall and again fall,
into an endless black hole.

It's the Death,
owner of everything,
witch comes for us all.

c.t.