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A part of me is saving this conversation for satan. Incase the gate keeper for heaven is on vacation. Hate to speak about death, but the reaper's patiently waiting. Black hood, scythe in hand. Yet, nobody's wanting to face it. Nobody wants him to guide their spirit to the afterlife. If you asked me I'd say he's a blessing, something like Aphrodite. I hate to be the one to say it. But I'd rather be guided by him than this fuck ass generation. Let that sink in. Let it marinate. Death is knocking at your door, and you're laying there. You're wide awake. Hoping that he'll leave. You start planning out your escape. You're calling out for me, and I tell you that I'm on the way. You're relieved, and thank me for helping you stop it. Naive to the fact that I'm the reaper's accomplice. You don't have to thank me, this is what friends do. I know you're afraid. Don't worry, I have a plan for you. The reaper appears. You're now aware of my deception. You could never run from death. I thought by now you would've learned your lesson. Now it's time to make your choice. Let us know. Hell or Heaven?
