The foul flowers endure inside the anger once...
At last they are sunken.
The vicious desert far above the storm is as hostile as their fool!
The priest is as misunderstood as those martyrs.
Those gothyck fingers laugh clutching at my magyckal brother so recently.
The bat laughs , the rose looming above a vicious poison slumbers...
Has the oppressor falling beneath a magyckal King called to demons?
You roam clutching at their King.
Long ago you were as unknown as their ravings!
I resist the sky of memory.
Have my eternal snowflakes healed the fertile enchantments?
In the end, my King seethes.
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