| The grim force set sail
|
| into a world of magic
|
| where wastelands were blue-soaked, in the capes of the mountains
|
| With a hunger as great
|
| as the most ancient of daggers
|
| Six were the days
|
| to be ended on the seventh night
|
| As it stepped into the shadowland
|
| grass began to grow
|
| A storm blew with a bliss,
|
| accomplishing the serpents kiss
|
| With blood like the noblest of red
|
| And with a purpose
|
| yet unknown to any dimension,
|
| set her eyes on fire
|
| for ultimate visions to discover
|
| Her lips touched the ground
|
| and became Death and his bride |