They say it stalks the streets at night, with the fury of a fallen angel.

The asphalt bows to its aggression and leaks slowly at it´s trail.

Like a black storm it marches forward relentlessly, drenching the skys with its wrath …

Some say it´s arrival is marked by the sound of war drums. Beating faster and harder than one thousand anguished hearts.

Nobody knows how the legend began, but there`s one thing that´s certain …

Wicked, it will ride again.

May our prayers line the streets with mercy.