The fear inside this poor mans eyes,
As the reflection reveals a scythe,
Slicing through his body,
Stealing something real,
Leaving no marks,
But the bite wounds on his back.
The Keeper of Souls,
Made from the organs of three beasts,
Kal Hon, Don Veir, and Tal Reono,
Covered in the skin of the damned,
Hidden by a cloak,
Found by a tear,
Look for death and find him near.
Man into beast,
Cloak into scales,
Scythe into fangs,
That are all to real.
