Mother killed in a street fray,
Teenage lover, fire snatched away,
My grief for years I did bay,
Until I found the Occultist way.

By candle-light, my eyes now tread,
Stressed and tired, they do grow red,
But on I read, and sleep I dread,
No time to stop and rest my head.

I study death, it is my life,
Such an art can cause much strife
Even though decay is rife,
When people fight with sword and knife.

I fear not the day's bright light,
And do not shirk from a good fight,
To rid the world of holy blight,
And engulf the world in enternal night.

Penned by my hand on the 11th of Lanosian, in the year 57 MA.