The Chaos of Hard Clay

When the wind blew among the weed,
When the roses started to bleed,
The crimson clouds veiled the midnight moon
Over the dark deadly lagoon.

In the moonless air, the wild vultures shrieked,
The doors upon their hinges creaked.
The stifling air overwhelmed with perpetual moans,
While cold skeletons ripping out the remaining flesh on their bones.

A lump of corpses piled over the abyss,
The chaos of hard clay longed for Apocalypse.
Carcasses rotting on the pitch-black sea,
The whirlpool unleashed their demonic souls and made them free.

The world was sinking in the vortex of void,
And it was too close to be destroyed.
But even when the world demolished,
The satanic souls were never to be abolished.