Hell hound awaits

[b][b][b]He awaits the closing hour
With liquid death, he shall lust, like the winds gust.
He, the black diamond of hell hounds.
He is no imitation as of late is beyond contestation.
He awaits the closing hour.
This ghoul, this amplifier of darkness lusts for the closing hour.
Thou peers into the thick bosom from whence it came.
This ghoul awaits the closing hour.
The tree line with sky so placid, taxing, to thine soul makes me a mute and put to shame.
There he sits, for this closing hour, sent as a saint from fires below
I sit with trinkets of muck and tears, shredded with fear,
This shall ever be,
I know it true,
My last hour