The Aviators

From deep within the beast it fights,
adrenaline reaches to new heights.
From hallowed halls the cries they fly.
Another woman is to die.

Thy chariot awaits for ye to pass,
those with hearts like jaded glass.
The aviators with frames jet black,
they never bare a single crack.

Reflections flow and ebb away,
like lost souls that flicker and sway,
as the knife comes down,
A crescendo of sound!
The aviators, have found ye now.

Thy heart thrills with unshed terror,
The end has come due to thy error.
And as the aviators gleam,
Ye let out thy final scream.