Faces of death
………Death has touched all around me, didn’t keep my promise not to give it more fuel for its fire, it shows no signs it will tire, I believe Life makes its bed, laces it’s boots and calls it sire, it awakes in the morning with skeletons as its choir, and when the wind blows it whistles pass sounding like a flute only death could acquire, every face is its own, so it needs no mask like Michael Myers.