Destroyer of Worlds

Black is the spear I hold in my hand.
But red shall the point be before
the night is done.
War shall I bring, death will my hand weild.
March now into the gaping
jaws of death, delivered by me
to thy end.
Curved, tallen like hands
reach out from firery pits of torment.
Come to me and I shalt cleave through thy
ranks as though your men were but water.
Like crimson fountains their bodies become, and
I walk amongst them, My work still not yet done.