The wind makes it sway,
So much wrong way.
Cold breeze, little hail
Face gone pale, what makes you fail?
Droplet by droplet forms the river bed,
If i look at the surface, smiles are dread.
Like stone chips skims the water surface
They say hell punched the heaven front face.
Better to stand, harder to understand
Lying from you, its written in the forehand
Imagine how beautiful will be the scenery for an artist,
When Cloud, thunderstorms, rain comes like a feast.
His art is much more than this,
You don't know what is the price for this,
That's the life in its way is.
For a place where witches sabbath
Weeping clouds and blood bath
It is Black in its form
But she's beautiful like a storm...

- Slaying pencil