Deathly Fear

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I smell everyone's fear, They look like frightened deer, Scattering around, Trying not to make a sound, These mortals are so clueless, They could do less, They are useless, though I take joy, Watching them crumble like a toy, Under an iron grip, They couldn't even nip, It's finally here, It draws so very near, Death's iron grasp on them, Like a rose's stem, He takes the lives, Of the mortals that thrive, On this pettiful land, Made of sand, It's the end, Of the mortals of Noman's Land.





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