By the time of the next traveling
The stack of bodies will be twice as high
Today's survivors sitting in the company of the rotten
The road home is long and isolated
Who would follow one who is cloaked in black
Masked as a raven
And lives among death?
The cart passes by an abysmal pit
If it were seen by a commoner
They would remark of its great depth
The cart does not stop and no bodies are dropped below
Instead its wheels tread toward home
Where the passengers will be put to better use