• His Wings are black and covered with red,
    He likes to sit at the edge of my bed.
    He carries a scythe; sharp to the tip,
    Every night he makes a special trip.

    Angel of Death, his cold, dark stare,
    For most people, that's something they couldn't bare.
    His cool, dark, black eyes look at me,
    For a moment they seem to say, "Let me free."

    Then I take a closer look,
    And find him clenching onto a book.
    I open it to the last page,
    The Angel seems to be filling with rage.

    I look up at him as I see the name "Takuya" appear,
    But the Angel shows no sign of fear.
    Then I knew that his time was up,
    The one I love have finally corrupt.

    I knew what I had to do as tears began to fall,
    But I started to wobble as I began to crawl.
    His black eyes met mine as I began our fate,
    But I wish that it could just wait.

    As I held up his scythe, he stopped me,
    Takuya said, "This won't make you free."
    "I know, but at least you'll be."
    With that our fates were set, you can see.

    Now Takuya was free, but dead,
    And I'm the one siting at the edge of your bed.
    My bloddy tears yet still pour,
    And every night, through the skies I soar.

    I know I must continue our fates,
    But there seems to be too many dates.
    With our scythe in my hands, in the night skies I lurk,
    Every night I must complete the life consuming work.