Invited to The Blissful Mist.
An event never heard of, yet it can't be missed.
The Blissful Mist, the church on maple.
The doors, inviting you under the steeple.
Open the church, to candles lit.
The Blissful Mist, members masked, in the light they sit.
The doors close, locking tight.
"We're glad that you could join us here tonight."
They take me to the center, where a pentagram lays.
Illuminated by the candles rays.
The pentagram, painted in blood, the reddest of red.
The sit around it, taking me to my deathbed.
I lay there, unable to move.
They watch me silently, my clothed body smooth.
The executioner, steps up to the pew.
The executioner, had killed lots with a gun; but with a knife, a few.
When suddenly, I recognize the person behind the mask.
The executioner sarcastically says to me "I'm sorry, but this is my task!"
The blade as sharp as glass, peirced my chest.
The colour fading from the world, for here I rest.
I look to the side, to see the others faces revealed.
And to my shock, they to me are faces my memory has sealed.
The world fades to black, when my mind remembers.
All of The Blissful Mist associates, are my family members
