Pitchfork peirces their skin as the tainted blood flies,

One after the other they face their demise,

Down the rows, the murderer goes,

Preparing each for their bloody fate,

Theres no hope left, your certain for death,

Silently prepare, you'll soon face your last breath,

Now it's my turn and as I try to fight back,

I cry out in preparation for the deadly attack,

Suddenly everything fades into black,

As his weapon tears violently into my flesh,

My last thoughts come at once in a tangled up mesh,

The occurences feel as though they aren't a reality,

The murder I face is a successful mortality,

Hopes and dreams, no longer exsisting. My fate is a certanity,

There it goes, dark as death, no more life in me.....