If you are the cold rapier of sovereignty
I'm the flames of hell that forge you
If you are the spread pallor of night
I'm the sleepless soul in your sullen
If you are the herald of mishap
I'm the ribbon of tan whose dust you awake
If you are the songful mockingbird
I'm the sylvan gourd twirling to your trills
If you are the darting trilobate arrow of retribution
I'm the billow whose back you surf
If you are the first born of Aphrodite
I'm the lost sea harbouring Uranus' genitalia
If you are the dirge of death
I'm the orchestra setting your symphony
If you are the sorcerer of the end
I'm the skull among the bones in your palm
If you are the pitiable mendicant
I'm the wretched jacket of holding your alms
If you are the cold rapier of sovereignty
I'm the scabbard kissing your blade
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