.
You've run out of bloody time,
with your chest so caved by bulemia.
Life no longer courses through you
after being stricken with sickle soul anemia.
I am not the reaper,
I am his loving wife.
Come join me in the harvest,
help me swing my knife.
I am the collector of skulls,
every shade of darkness has a tone.
When your eyeballs shrivel like raisins,
they'll be plucked and placed with the bone.
A large pile of stiffs with bulemia,
welcome to your eternal life of dis-ease.
My diagnosis is sickle soul anemia,
we lied. You can't do here what you please.
You'll stand in my line with shackles and chains,
you are officially under my spell.
You'll do as I say because I have your soul,
since you can't cry to God, welcome to hell.
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maralisa
