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Correction Paroles
A Settling Of Ways
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Into The Moat
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tangled in this divine coil I ponder on the concrete and the highest of laws the injuries layed upon cannot be excused I will keep you company not much longer for I see my end is bound by earth but not thrice I go under at the smallest of ills, I lay my sword upon the table and ask for blood I place a plague on all your houses my half is dead for yours has slain the end is not the end you live, so why dread I send no messenger the nectars and wounds are too great to let by all I ask for is justice for death is death no matter if the axe is golden and love is love no matter how selfish
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