Coming from the shadows
Reeks a smell from a beast.
Immortal, divine, there’s no welcoming death.
Mourn your heart out for this beast,
Salvation will never come.
On occasion will pain come forth,
Never will the beast fear death.

Warily, he’ll fear life and pain
Itself, for he knows not salvation.
Nigh high in the night sky, will he float,
Giving his form a glowing appearance,
Searching for the death of his soul on his crimson wings.