caerai

I wish my lips were sown together, with two threads of poisoned leather, and never did the day I see more, when I sat and sung herald lore. For thrice the song bird did come to me, and he sung me a song that said just to be. The fault in this was for heaven to see, and a bleeding song bird was the fee. As my encharged ballad did shake the skies, I only wished that songbird flys. But only then did I see, the nature of life was killing me, that haunting anguish of killing strife, the succinct summary of modern life. For each being I killed with my song, I started to heartache with breath and long. Only when their bloo