• The Wind quietly whispers through the dead and burning grass,
    Foretelling the lonely Angel's arrival.
    "His weight is nearly nonexistant."
    States the sad tombstone that he had perched upon.
    "His grip is firm and strong."
    Sighs the bloodsoaked scythe that he wields.
    "He hath brought upon this place naught but death and destruction!"
    Cries the ruins of the once great city surrounding him.
    He takes off, nothing but his shed feathers to tell of his passage,
    With nothing but the teary-eyed statues watching him go,
    Wishing him luck on his endless quest to rejoin the ranks of heaven...