The sickness that ails us and the cure we refuse. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: now in fun size!
Chaos, my constant companion
Its arms wrapped around my neck
Embrace it back, or its hold will prove deadly.
Pestilence, perpetual wounds
Weeping sores, a tireless hex
The medicine is bitter but dispels the pain.
War, thundering toward nullity
Shattering silence, frail bodies
A primal battle for supremacy.
Famine, it lingers ghostlike
Sustenance always abounds
But they hoard it for themselves.
Death: an hourglass, a mercy
Frees both innocents and criminals
Kills the fish and drains the water
Chaos, a parasite's paradise
Sacrificial daggers do no good
Just pull us further into ruin.