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Death, the new Black, is knocking at my door

The cries of the doomed calling from the dark

They send me their curse and shout from the floor

Death brings sickness tot eh good and the kind

He casts his spells calling upon demons

They, infest, oppress, and possed the blind

Their passion for evil is strange but strong

They long for the feeling to live again

For that, they must take the souls of the wrong

Death is bad but he is good

For he does his job with an iron fist

He steals and casts away the hood

But never does he smile for he cannot be blissed


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