Above the appalling ruin, you created an icy universe.
I received nothing but shock, my eyes wandering around in miserableness. I used to yearn for garden lullabies. Deep into your bewitching gaze, I couldn't ask for more, but I committed some tender rituals within your velvet lakes, overdosing on the sanctuary when crows were nearby, cawing for more melancholic offerings.
What kind of obligation would make your full-time miracles mine?