As my fate is sealed
The tides of time manifest a cruel hymn,
I beg the curse doth not trap me in peril,
For I wish to witness death's wake
And the maestro's symphony of violins screeching,
And the widow's spindles stabbing into my bones.
As they devour my worn carapace,
I shall beg them to, let from it drip the marrow
For the brisk wind weaves hope, within its purity repentance lay,
And I may shed away crimson echoes,
Bitter insignias of winters past
For each tear, a feather upon her grave I will put to rest.