As the Skies spit fire,
the winds are brewing a storm red
living and dead don’t matter now
when the air is full of dread
I don’t hear the wolves howl
I hear their cries instead
Is this how I imagine hell
every time before I go to bed.
As the Skies spit fire,
the winds are brewing a storm red
living and dead don’t matter now
when the air is full of dread
I don’t hear the wolves howl
I hear their cries instead
Is this how I imagine hell
every time before I go to bed.
Writings to Heaven 
Beautiful! 👏 keep writing! 👍
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