You point a shattered mirror at the world
and mock those who tempt you, but you...
but you most of all are afraid of what you might see in the grass
The power of your faith, [?]... the power of everlasting faith, [?]
I must have said I love you for your intensities,
that you aren't the one, but your wounds are soaking through,
the rivers will flow with your blood,
the crows will sing your name
as they build their winter nests with your hair, bones and teeth
The red will soak this land, [?],
right before the clouds and stars wash it all away.
swirling out [?] of the old wound, [?] rusted metal, that rivers will froth blood, from all those who walk these lands...
my thoughts slowly turn to the past,([?]) out of this life,
through the dark, the shadow will stifle the light.
THE MAD BARRON
The Source Of The Metal