Warm hue, yet strangely freezing
On every edge, reflecting
Like the life tightly lit
Knowing it is there, but hidden
Flickering on the sights,
Perhaps it's far
Perhaps, a dream
A creature, weightless, lurking
Beneath the veil of crimson skies,  
A shadow moves, it twists, it lies.  
A whispered name, a fleeting trace,  
The butcher’s mask, a faceless face.  
The blade descends, it sings, it screams,  
A dirge of nightmares, shattering dreams.  
The blackened blood, the butcher’s art,  
A silent hand to tear apart.  
In the glow of a dying flame,  
The butcher dances without a name.  
Through the void, where the lost collide,  
A hollow heart beats, black inside.  
Weightless steps through the endless night,  
Guided by hunger, veiled in blight.  
A haunting echo, a chilling grin,  
Where shadows end, the tale begins.  
In the glow of a dying flame,  
The butcher dances without a name.  
Through the void, where the lost collide,  
A hollow heart beats, black inside.  
Warm hue fades, the freezing stays,  
The butcher vanishes in the haze.  
No sound, no trace, no final breath,  
Just the stillness when the soul left.