Shakuita Johnson

We are the messengers of death. 

The heralds of tragedy. 

Our cry resounds throughout the night. 

Wailing songs of limited time. 

The reaper follows us hand in hand with whispers of unknown lands. 

Crimson flows freely from our eyes. 

Our family's demise torn from the depths of our cries. 

Swirled in secrets of mist and tragedy.