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.