Many are tempted, many are strayed,
Far from the paths that the good have layed.
Across the plains, and through the heat,
Lies a land of pain where men are beat.
A curdling cry, from a possessive force,
Makes a man wonder, why he left his course.
Uninfluenced or not, you will become the bait,
Having obtained the undesirable emotion, or state.
Those who fight, will surely be subdued,
To the hounds from beyond, in a demonic fued.
Few resist the temptation for a while,
But before long, all walk the mile.
The capital has become a stagnant place,
Without the warm blood of a young man's face.
The imps are beckoned, the hounds of lore,
As chaos rings out its violent uproar.
You have been called to visit, Pandemonium!

GenoCide ěVOiDě