With no indication for what I was meant to be,
I stood all alone and heard "Hell gapes for thee".

The blood in my mouth, a sign of youth.
The lines on my hands, the novel of truth.

Into the pit a poor child was flung,
nary a meager requiem sung.

Should there be a heaven,
my entry barred by the deadly seven.

Should there be a Hell,
I'll show you a bright soul quelled.

I've got a soul of onyx and gold,
it only stops when I grow cold.

I grow colder every day.