I shall feed on thy soul ere the night is through,
If thou dost not leave here.
To flight has taken thy mare.
She knows what I shall do to thee.
I suggest for you to run too.
Nothing lives here.
So thou just standeth there?
Now the clock strikes 12:03.
See that grave there? It is for thee.
In it, you may peer.
I touch they face with a chill finger.
Yes, I know. Cold, they feel.
See thy skin turn blue.
Nicely, you wither.
Here, you go in there.
Thy grave was dug by me.
Thou art part of my collection too.
Now to wait for another one filled with fear.