Alias׺׺׺Dyer
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There is something strange down by the cemetery
Emptying the graves left and right
Ghastly schemes and ghoulish undertakings
Underneath the pale moonlight
Curse the day they invented the crematory
What a foolish waste of potential sales
It’s a damn shame to discard inventory
Think outside the box if all else fails
Death is my business and business is good!
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Alias sat in his cage with his back against the wall, he didn't dare to move, as of now it was like the shackles were fusing with his skin and even the slightest movement sent pain throughout his entire body. "What a bother" he moaned, speaking was even difficult since he hadn't been served water for the past few days. It was a punishment for attempting to escape the compound, though they made sure to keep him alive and suffering. It wasn't the pain that was the worst though, Alias felt like going insane, his mental state was terrible, being cramped up in once place for so long was becoming troublesome. He just laughed at his currently ill state, "I seem so weak right now, no wonder I haven't been taken in by anybody" he stated with his voice crackling like gravel was in his throat. Taking a deep breath he stood up, ignoring the throbbing sensation in his ankles that seemed to be crying out to him, though if he was to just give up his pride would never forgive him. This boy was such a sob story right now, but anybodies will would be broken if they were treated like this so he payed no mind. Stumbling his way over towards the bars of his cell he banged on it, "s-somebody take these damned chains off of me!" he managed to say aloud, hoping one of the guards would here. Maybe if he could reason with one they would accept his offer, something along the lines of cleaning the entire building for a week, or, anything.
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There’s a grave robber at large
Ripping bodies from hallowed ground
Desecrate those who rest in peace
There’s profit to be made from the recent deceased
Skeletal remains are safe in the ossuary
They’re quite stale and not worth a dime
Don’t think me a fiend, this is strictly monetary
Fortune calls and I’ll answer this time.
In this occupation timing is instrumental
A matter of hours can plummet the price
The fact it’s a crime is simply incidental
Freshness is key, nothing else will suffice
Death is my business and business is good!
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O.o.c : So what's happening?.
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