To his cruelty I shall not boast; to his cruelty we fear the most. I shudder at the disguise, muses drop to their knees at his lies.
Under the fallen star, this demon was born. Angelic in face and flesh as he makes rampant the claims. Magic in his grasp and hold,
I fear this moment of vanity as he peers into the mirrior near. Never shall the beast cease in his cravings for blood. My Lord, victor and feared
The blood in his lips, hand on his dagger of choice. Alchemy is horrid in these airs and in his hands. Shall we never become more then the
beast, opposition and handler. We watch as he moves sly, like that of a cat, horrid cat. The moon is full and he knows these things. He knows
when the moon is full and when the plant is deadly. The moon is dark and he becomes frightfully lonely. Shall we never speak these words
once again. His presence nears and the moon falls dark once to three in sin.
His fingers control the airs with magic; his eyes control the fire blazing with just defiance. The fear kindles within me; fear of his touch, his
And till his hands reach for daggers filled with menace. Shall we never speak these words again.
Servant One: And until he fingers reach for daggers filled with menace, shall we never speak these words again.
Now the moon darkens and he shall reign again.
Shall his bones become dust and his lips become snakes.
Snakes of power? Or snakes of envy?
Snakes of fury of course. Lips like that of medusa; hair like that of raven. Skin like that of the dead, pale and horrid.
Snakes of his evil reign. Snakes of his magic.
And shall we never speak of this again. His magic now tampers.
His evil reign now tampers. Never waning.
Never waning. Shall we never speak of this again.
Shall we never speak of this again.
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