years come to a close
fog crawls on the ground, soiled by those
who frightneingly gather, under the fucking banner
hands cup ears, nothing but echoes
his army of hellhounds, defeated by
one stormy eyed fox, warnings unheard
relative of the siren, who brings the fog
masks penetrators, moving like wind
close up turning point, eyes finally widen
float upon, the returning echos
to the protecting banner
welcomed by a demon whore fox
years close, diseasor exposed
one blooded hand
nothing but echoes
c