Come o'er the saints
Fall'n into the sear
In my stead, a curse to hither
'til my bones, my flesh shall disappear
Canst thou nought raise a blade of sweetened fear
A bane to a burdened forest
Heal him down a bow, to a tyrant's ear
Petty face of the fog
Thou daren't drown a kiss of mist
Lest there be to famine's cleanst
Thy pouring fiend
O'er harness upon back
Thou mar in callst a blade
Palter within us a hark
Thou surely shalln't fight with thee
"Here may thou seek a tyrant"
Thou oppos'd dammn'd behold a kiss'd cry,
Ultimately ripp'd
Or none hast that be.
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