taco_barbarian

O rings of Hell below, thy choir of destruction sings
That god o'er man and man o'er devil doth stand.
Thy angelic face like that of the purest of things
Ravages my mind, toils my body, and burns the land.

A beauty unparalleled by any goddess of love
The playful gaze of the capracious nymph of wood.
A spirit with all the benevolence of the white dove
Doth inspire in me the most concrete of goods.

So I sing to thee O child of Albion, that thou art
coifed in violet hair as the darkest skies doth breathe.
Sighing out in loathesome hunger, longing in heart
That the humours might burn the soul of reprieve.