the words were like poison and they sat on my conscience like a weapon like a desert landscape in the fair kingdom the words that she laid at my door just would not sit right with me no matter how many of the guilty i ran to ground no matter how many of the fears i cast aside
the history of it felt like a cold stone hall and its midnight man running with his flickering torch and his sweaty face filled with a thousand nameless terrors he bears the tidings with a hesitant hand a crumpled rag of paper with her words scrawled with a desperate hand of ignorance its history tastes like that to me
we rode far into the north country trying to put some miles between us and the steady rain trying to shake the pursuit that is more felt than seen a chaser like a figure emerging from the heat haze in the desert valley of tombs we rode far into the trackless wood of the north and camped up by the river you became like a ***** hermit and i became a bitter shadow of a creek crawler cursed for not having drunk of the sweet nectar of her loves one day announced you were fleeing this place cause you had found god so you went back to the lowlands and preached to the crows in the pickers field but when evening had flown it took your madness with it so we had to begin again so into the dark of night we ride seeking the world seeking the truth untainted by her lies
and in the fierce fire of her unforgiving eye you finally see that you will know no peace till you have set aright the fallen house restore the mantle of the broken kingdom to its rightful heirs