My boy
Their parents have died
The monster have killed them.
The children are crying
The devil is laughing.
The boy is watching through the world
He is waiting for his parents to wake up
The poet who's writing these lines
Will kill him and flame up.
The Poet: He's head will be severed!
The Boy: No, please! I don't want to die!
Butcher: Shut up, boy!
The Poet: You are the Chosen One, my boy,
So, take you death for granted and enjoy.
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