"No poems' words could match my craft"
An Artist he called himself.
Blood would follow anywhere he went.
A lot of time that he has spent...
Decorating Death with his Whisper.
A singer without a voice
A dancer without legs
A peasant without arms
An artist without a mind
All parts of the composition
But it needs something...
Because only perfection is acceptable.
Beauty in Death
Lotus ready to bloom
Men grown into tree
All above the pale moon
Khada Jhin was his name
Chased by Shen and Zed
Leaving a spray of blood
Noone escaped their worst dread