I Pray God Saves. The end is here. Near, the demons at my door, in wait outside the hall, like vultures waiting to fly down and pluck clean my bones, lifeless here on the ground... Here no single other soul seems even around. Streets of never. Strangers peer from the light that's shining inside. Wolves that roam at night with fangs that tear my flesh and grant me this my death wish. No escape now... Ever. I take up my death bed and now I take a bow, the curtains close in this old ghost town. A hideous sound. Ghosts wailing from empty and hollow homes, haunting me endlessly like I'm cursed, all roads are closed, wandering like spirits aimlessly, forever unfound. This fate is the worst. Buried, but alive, unable to die and a soul left to rot inside and live on anyhow. A bird on the howling winds of the storm who refuses to fly. Sleeping soundly, deeply in the mud. The dead of night. A host of the nightmares all now sleep terrified. The hell that follows all of us who screamed and moaned. Horrified by the monsters inside. Now runs quick the blood... Pounding my brain like a nail. The beastly veil. Hell's souls, left with nothing to prevail. All that's unknown, the supernatural wonder of the invisible and ancient wonder. A god born of of dirt and sky. Wraiths who seek revenge on every single night and delight with death from the depth of graves... Forever to roam. From my shell I rise, cold and alone. The living and the dead. Dread and death and at this final breath... If to hell my spirit roams, let it go... I pray that if the dammed God saves, that he'll take and make life from these old, dry bones. By Robert T Birt