Poetry for Freaks
Last update: 16 November 2011
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Untitled
by Blink

With hell on his footsteps he comes into sight,
A foreboding figure in the dead of night.
His eyes are empty, his face is bone.
In his presence I still feel alone.
I look at him--why is he here?
My pounding heart is filled with fear.
He shows me my life, and now I can see.
His name is Death, and he comes here for me.