See he who marches alone thru marshes unknown..
Practicing magic of the darkest hardest part of any art to be honed..
The alchemist scars earths decor with boiling tar that he owns..
Bottled close to the heart of his cloak mixed with bark and the stones..
Been seen traveling the artic regions just to carcass the season..
Folk remark an believe in the alchemy this sage markets at evenings..
Gossip on the fact, he could be the one. A cause to end grieving..
Towns now parka'd with diseased an, he can flawless freeze it!...
Blind to his coldheart, they became victims- graved by the morning..
Whole families slained and corpses blood now drain out they orarfice..
Witness to their pain caused faints, bodies fell like rain as if stormin..
Homeless found refuge in death, their was no restraint unto orphans.
Now he reformulates equations from his orderly made statements...
Recording the way he made it to better preform his warring phases..
Mixing his tar with a quarter quartz for excellent organ aimed grazin..
Taking into accord any mistakes made with poor enforced bases..
Summoning potions so potent they could obliterate mass itself...
Hitting rate is passive dealt when shadows liberate its graphic self...
In a blink of an eye or the flick the ash, it erases the masses health..
It brings mathematicians to say the effect it creates is the fastest felt..

And as he marches alone thru marshes unknown, his goal..
Is he's headed your way, 'til world submission is a parchment he holds..