There's mercy on lips that curve a wicked grin. There's blood upon his hands that make him innocent of sin. There's a whirlwind in his breath and thunder in his name with hate upon his brow he's digging up your grave.
You'll never see him there through the flicking of an eye there's a stench among his brain while touches passersby. He heals them of their wounds though, they'll never know and with each second of the clock he hates you more and more.
An old man in the morning, a young man by night. He stands at every corner, vigil through every hour's plight. He is man and machine. He's both time and death. He's every evening's linger and the first morning's breath
He lives forever in nothing and an eternity in chains. He's an ever present wanderer frail with every blame. He's hated and loved. He's birth and he's death. And though no one can see him he's after your breath.
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