A chill of Styx water runs through my heart,
Arrows cannot reach it, I will not let them.
To do so is to die,
Please understand.
Shots of Phlegethon stopped reaching my tears,
Too many times have I gone mad from it's flames.
I would rather forget,
All that icy pain.
When I die from this curse of long-lost touch,
Send me to corrode on the banks of the Lethe.
Mar 26, 2020
Mar 26, 2020 at 2:07 PM UTC
A chill of Styx water runs through my heart,
Arrows cannot reach it, I will not let them.
To do so is to die,
Please understand.
Shots of Phlegethon stopped reaching my tears,
Too many times have I gone mad from it's flames.
I would rather forget,
All that icy pain.
When I die from this curse of long-lost touch,
Send me to corrode on the banks of the Lethe.