Yes I'm a ghost writer who writes in a state of death alive like a martyr,
Parta' me is sucessfully wanting to be a bird green on a heavenly tree,
Yet I go on killing sprees with my artilery made of words,
As the opitamy of good versus evil in my own world,
Keep cold, feel old, peep as i reveal the real Lord,
The one who Istawa, over, His Throne,
In a way which befits His majesty, always remember there is none like He,
So when I state I did rake my mind and wrote the above lines will you believe me?