Thy Serpent - Thou Bade Nothingness


In times, when I fain of a season 
its chill hold me wist, of an unknown reason 
Greyness upon streams parlous and cool 
Sheer the light which reflects from Plenilune 

Ready to tale stars of wan, as both forwandered, 
and loath the ways thee all ran astounded 
So did thine glaive rust with wind and water 
so terrified of fallow thee roamed to gutte 

Perhaps the fragments of thine willing skin 
saw no reflections of, what is called a bale king 
Neither have Fall's shades descended to leaves 
Of no nightbird's ashes belong to mine needs 

Together a battle raged between moon, 
likely the escorts of an velvet son. 
One lode led to forhungered wood, 
the frith were dark and thus thou run 

As I see nothing but mere piece of meat, 
trying to achieve as vision holds lack. 
Hanging upon wold, not wist the made plead, 
Twisting in gloam, this path fares not back... 

Thus... Of no nightbird's ashes shall I devour.

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