One's pride makes the person wonder in vast life,
Whether his strength is mighty enough to gain a delightful knife.

He bluntly claimed nature to his penurious granting.
His essence of a greedy man, unwilling to end his merciless grasping.

Then the ruinous storm arrived, making the eyes filthily.
A horrible curse fell from the sky to take the pitiful one's dignity.

He owed his helpless time to the pitch-dark soul.
A mendacious illusion attached to mischievous role.

Mortals witnessed his own tainted heart die.
He knew his hopeless grief would become a great lie.

But grave raised with riddles upon its lost defiance.
He fought with swords and does, but was destroyed by the dark soul in silence.


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