Oh, you child!

Blessed be you are.

Born to be the one who is loved

You were made to be torn apart.

The angels cry and sing your name.

You were made to lose all you've earned.

Everything will be in time.

You are with no reason and no rhyme.

It will reach the depths where hell has not dug.

Your name and all the things you've done.

The world will be at your mercy.

And you will die, that is what you will do.

You will die over and over again.

You will skin what is left of your bones.

For those who will eat you whole and alive.

You will thank them for it you will thank him for it.

You will happily oblige.

Oh our sweet thorn born child.

The kisses and praise will litter your skin like an incurable plague.

You are my favourite.

And you will thank me for it.

-Percy