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.
