Invoke - Chasing Death

It holds you tight

Takes away your voice

It deprives you of the air

It determines your life

Your actions

Your thoughts

It will be time to finish it

It strip off like a suit of hate, suffering and torment

The sweet scent of death

The feeling of nothing ordering your day

The sound of silence

The black of the night

We are ready

We keep it out

Until the dead we will wait

We invoke the creator of death

We strive for it

Most are weak

The temptation is great

The life so hard

Ready for the dead