The blood flows like a river after a thunderstorm, the rain washing it down stream. In the echo of thunder you hear the fallen’s screams as the sky's are filled with the lost dreams. My gun still smoking from the blazing bullets and my blade stained red from those now dead. Their last look forever burned in my head, they become the nightmares keeping me from bed. The sight of a knife cutting into one's throat at that moment you become the devil's pet, a goat drinking the blood as it spills. Most would turn ill while I stood there with and evil glare. A dark figure got stare, it was death himself whose path I dare not cross. He gave me a message that my soul will forever be lost.