H is for the Harvest of the souls, as they grow the future, bleeding from the sky like rain, pushing advance.

O goes the Open wounds that bear the past, crusted in lies and vice, like a slime of sin.

R lives for only Reserves for those just couldn’t make it, to the exit, blocked in gated chains.

R is coming close Ruse that been only scream in the air, craving the flesh as its own, bounding it.

O nears the verbal knives that lacerate Objections of living, be only as zombies.

R being that Rips the chances, being lost forever in a pit, never coming back.

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