the dark hole 8

The panicky human race
Rushing to the fallen friends
Forgetting about the rushing streams
Saving souls they must do

Some wailing in the falling rain
Knowing loved ones sweeping away
Tumbling along the rocks and streams
The rapture of death the Reaper takes

The black cloth Reaper hops
Tree to tree in silent he floats
The strong wind flapping his black outfit
He shows his skeleton face, body and hands

The dark clouds deepen
Covering the stricken humans
The sky turning dark.......
Torch lights flare pointing the way

Down the streams the bodies float
A group of people manage to halt it flows
Gathering the still bodies wet and cold
Lives gone as eyes turning white skin of blue

Medical doctors try to resuscitate
Pushing harder pounding on chests
Yet the wet cold bodies showing no response
The souls spike in the Reaper's hands

The struggling sinners
Feeling the trap closing behind
The Reaper smile putting them in his cloth sack
On certain nights the wailing softly can be heard

As the singing wind carry on
The shrieking sound jerks one to remember
The Holy Books of the prophets
Turn the pages the truth can be found

The dark hole will keep opening
Catching the sinners as they forget
As lives mix and match; the light and darkness
Only the true believers will smash their way

The life line is always there
Suffer the death; understand a life
Dust to dust we will return to the land
The forms will travel to make a stand