Purified

Can the pestilence within you be bled out, may I have the honor of this amputation? Know that you have made an enemy, to show you the meaning of indignity, I live now solely for the pleasure of your slow decay. Feel the pain of vengeance burn you, soon you shall know silence. With trembling hands you'll beg for mercy. I'll show you none. Purified by my hand, in this my world, it is salvation. Your futile existence draws to a close, a cloak of lies drops. The lies drop.