His own blood shall stoop the fires.

But how can we stay warm, when he cannot pierce the fold?

A martyr of this remorseless  race.

Discontent of avarice, sorrow one could never know.



To save the ones he hated most

One must prepare great sacrifice.

The bleeding table primed divine

The trusted ones must bear the knives!



So I must go

To save all I know…

But at what cost?!!?!



Weakness!

Is the mark of desecration.

Sever one’s devotion; doom the pride of all surrounding.

This is the writ of – the dead resolution.

TAKE THIS KNIFE!

Now carve your brand upon my pride…



…



...



...



Can they truly be saved?

From the damnation for a thousand fold’s disgrace?

But who should hold the blame?

When the transgressions are of his own design?!



Weakness!

Is the mark of desecration.

Sever one’s devotion; doom the pride of all surrounding.

This is the writ of – the dead resolution.

TAKE THIS KNIFE!

Now carve your brand upon my –

PRIDE!!!!!