Messenger of Processed Insanity

My mind is dark and in hell
Fed by worms and an anathema spell
Hear the sounds of eerie voices which slowly fade
Into a deafening silence as they bruise me with a razorsharp blade

Gallop on this four winged horse with a red horn
Icy wind, in the southern skies I’ll ride till morn
Seven shades of dust covers my gray eyes
Another dying prey, I feel no more surprise

There is only death and danger
In this prison to which I surrender
A playground of an illusive sky
No one plays , they only die

A raging thunder, a terrifying scream
An Electric madness, a lava stream
Kill these worms, my senses blur
How I’ve longed for a messenger