The reaper comes and cuts men in half
He throws them away like chaff.
A bloody and icy scythe he wields
As he scours the fields.
It's a grim harvest.
Here comes the maggots that hunger has drove rabid
They feast on corpses out of habit.
The ground is stained red
With the blood of the dead.
The air is filled with noxious fumes.
Sincerely,
Sigmund Creed
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