Woe to you. I was born dead It was three nights and three hours before fullmoon I am The Reaper There has been found away to brew the pot of Armageddon When times tell you this it answers to make it happen by wish Pragmatic the reflection of a Woe, In waters of wisdom and hate, by time One does (...) make misty eyes winged but now also penetrating Within the Golden Walls Man I see you've got an hypnotic stench -Within your mind -Soul Strangled, Burnt, Buried and Drowned Would I let you like the way to spirit any kind of a "One Last Word"? Are you preset to sacrifice? Are you preset to sacrifice?