Somewhere located in the depths of Hell
Lies a field where souls are chained, murder fills the air and Death takes residence.
Fog swallows the dead, black thorns puncture the feet
Time has come.
The Gate
dressed in Black Velvet
slowly creeks opens
A sorrowful tune repeats itself
The wind whispers, "Macabre"
Welcome minions, to the Field of Red.
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Fear and Loathing in Phoenix
" For every moment of triumph, for every instance of beauty, many souls must be trampled. " -Hunter S. Thompson
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The Decadent Requiem
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