When you come near the flowers wilt, the trees burn, and the water freezes.
You come up the masked face of death.
you hold a scythe up with both hands. Pull down fast with no sound.
then you turn without a backward glance.
And and with pride the devil starts to dance.
For you are the angel of death.
You take pride in the work that you do.
Noone knows who you they will never know who.