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Crimson black robes, over my feet fall;
Blade of my scythe, stretches so tall.
Blood streaks from its sharp edge
As I observe from a high ledge...
...the world, I can't take part in.
Taking those who are pure,
And those who're engulfed in sin.
I grieve in my very own seclusion,
But I suffer absolutely no delusion.
This is my fate, forever more
Stuck in this "life" of blood and gore.
Forced to watch their loved ones cry,
As I await them to let go and die.
What have I done to deserve this curse;
Emblazoned with scythe and by a hurst.
I have all the time to delve this deeper.
For let it be known, I am the Grim Reaper.
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