Whilo

     Am I evil, the harvester of sorrow god that failed? One for whom the bell tolls, I fade to black, waiting for the day that never comes. Wherever I may roam you say welcome home and greet me with whisky in the jar. Always unforgiven, I dissapear, turn the page, outlaw torn, creeping death from the Judas Kiss. I jump in the fire. The memory remains, fuel to my apocalypse, this low mans lyric, don't tread on me.