Fourty Nights and fourty moons. Soon ye wander, in wait another death is trotted in sight. How much memory I only reside in. All I recall is the bloode not thy revelation of whom was behest to me.
(who was I and Fields are red)
Not thy scarlet flowe of her enchanting hazel eye. Not thou who was slaine. Only bloode and insatiable. Many perished under thy baring teeth how I soon yearn to have their sweet nectar drip down my tongue.
(conviction. For what mercy of death wasn't in my hand)
Tis all terror in nights freedom is never within graspe. Misery shan't describe what force compels me. Only hear thy song of bloode. Once more into thy fray again to take more lives. Bloode soaked the ground it's insufferable another nighte of slaughter another wake of sorrowe. (what's become of us is now shallow.)
