Misery is what life deems his name,
Such a fate must become some man’s role,
To wear such a stained title with fame
And to reap anguish in that black hole.
He wears despair and sorrow like the silken cloak
And gazes upon crimson pain with raven eyes.
His voice speaks softly and insinuates in a deceptive croak;
From inky darkness and mystery will he always rise.
But every existence must surely have a heart?
To ease burdens and trials of Punishment’s own soul
Such a vital organ must exist in some sort of part.
It survives to fill in and keep his spirit whole.
Though Wretchedness’ heart may be bleached to bone white,
Infinite color is revealed when held up to the light.