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Segregated village, shipwrecked bay,

Locals fear the evil games he plays.

Unbeknownst to them, he's in control,

They're all in the act and they all play a role.

Wicked magic- for demented ends,

Mortal life as currency, the warlock spends.

Oblivious to Him with his cloaked facade,

Just a haggard man in a mountain, who's gone mad.

The Warlocks cackle echoes through the valley,

Black sheep who follow, at the foothills they rally.

Marionettes, in his grand design,

To march the villagers deep into the mine,

In the depths of the dark, brainwashed, soldiers,

Black candle ashes and pentacle smoulders.

Wicked magic- for demented ends,

Mortal life as currency, the warlock spends.

Oblivious to Him with his cloaked facade,

Just a haggard man in a mountain, who's gone mad

He lifts back his hood and from below his guise,

He looks at each of them, right in the eyes.

The cloak, drops to the floor--and through the dust- he's vanished,

Death is coming to those, who had him banished.

The warlock cackles.-alongside his legion,

He's enslaved this village, Now to doom the whole region,

No escape from demise, When the sky rips and crackles,

Louder than thunder, the Warlock cackles.