Path of insolence with a horde,
Pleasing for the standing time,
Carves the book of sins,
Returns with a horrid chime.

The mist of fake supremacy,
The curse of the suffering humanity,
Tears the spirit of saint,
Makes the road to insanity.

Two vice men in nature
Can never become friends,
Neither can a pack for instance
Regress the hostile trend.

Swirling tides of time,
Cascades the bank of evil,
Raises from the rubbles and dust,
Nasty wits called vengeance.

Stranded by the breaking bonds,
Shattered by the sudden gust,
Left is the evil on battleground,
Wounded by broken trust.

Pricking remains of gory past,
Loneliness follows the creepy path,
Salvage is nowhere to seen,
Evil men become filthy being…

Good things do come last,
Neither too slow and neither too fast,
To make merry and have a blast,
To tamper the earth where evil is cast.