knee deep in the blood of man,
a sillohette of something stands.
he carries the carrion by mouth or by hand,
he can look anyway and lives in no land.
always found near bloodshed
he carries away all the dead.
he comes on wings
to carry all things
old, bad, tall, nice, short, new,
one day he'll come and take you.
to a crossing of time itself
to future, heaven or hell.
his eyes are hollow, showing no care,
he has feathers, skull, or beautiful hair,
he is the raven, the corpse, or a man on wings of an ash grey tone.
he is the taker of souls, the end of life, he is the carer of all and none.
you may call him Death, if you're afraid of hell,
but truth is, he's the only Nameless Angel.