Twenty five years from now, only the elite will rise, and be left to stand. Through passing time and ungrateful tales, each restful thought is left behind forgotten. Deprived, the sleeping eye still stares right through these last eight heartless years of ignorance. In filth, it's plagued beyond escaping paths. Damned alone to face the beast who rides upon the palest of four horses. And in the wake of Pestilence, Famine, and War, comes Death.
When eye to eye six feet below the sickly pale green creature, death is effortless.
The darkest clouds will form around what's left of this god forsaken town. This city is cursed of sadistic tales and passing panic. This city is cursed. The darkest clouds will form around what's left of this god forsaken town. Perhaps it's best existence continues this way. Perhaps there are no beating hearts left.