Pages turning in the breeze,
Names and dates written with ease,
Creatures not worthy of breath,
Each has chosen their own death,

Faces clear against the names,
Marking them for Satan’s flames.
Spirits watch this work with greed,
Each line fills their ancient need,

Corrupted souls will come and go,
Mortals seldom see or know,
Angels walk the land as men,
Each one armed with sword and pen.

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