coastline design

The March to Acheron begins,
ending lives with steel and fire.
The contest only a hero wins,
battling Hades for a funeral pyre.�

Irresistible the freezing stares,
eerie slither of Gorgon strands.
Undiscoverable the dying lairs,
teary warble of Sirenrsquo;s lands.�

The March to Acheron goes on,
crushing bones and breaking skin.
The journey through Phlegethon,
fording magma with a crazy grin.�

Immovable the unblinking faces,
brutal march of Cyclopsrsquo; forces.
Unstoppable the smashing maces,
lethal charge of Minotaur horns.�

The March to Acheron ends here,
draining souls of good and malice.
The sentinels of Erebus fall in fear,
casting spirits into a bloody chalice.�

Indomitable the pounding hooves,
wrathful rumble of Centaur hordes.
Unmistakable the clopping shoes,
awful clatter of the Satyr squads.�

The March to Acheron is done,
obliterating Fates and Gods alike.
The champions of death have won,
mounting Charonrsquo;s head on a pike.�

Indestructible the devouring flames,
fiery embrace of Cerberusrsquo; fangs.
Unassailable the tormenting names,
angry damage of Erinyesrsquo; pangs.�

The March to Acheron was made,
executing Alecto and Rhadamanthus.
The quest by will and power bade,
torching Elysian Fields and Justice.

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