At the spire, I am looking down at a vesper without a merciless fire.
The flames azure like waters fashion, waters passion.
With you I fall asunder, with you I'm falling under.
You take a statues form, no movement made in the mourn.
Standing still hope is bludgeoned with disaster...
Brought down by the ropes of fate.
The marble face shatters.
Blasted in the face, no more soulless gaze.
Stripped emotions, the face of bone.
Give me thy hammer forged by stone and let me pulverize the skull.
Crushing the face with with my mace.

"Dark mane, please abide to this old sage for he is laden with hopes of a better place.
In order to survive.
You must listen closely or else the old maven will curse with rage".
I am in chains, bitter metallic blame, where fate guilds these shackles taking me where terror reigns, as if I could sustain the verity that I am in...chains.
I am shackled to a place where terror reigns.
I'm cursed by rage.
Gallop mare, away from wrought steel forged with the elder's lore.
Run stallion amongst naves with the greatest haste away from these manacles weight.
Never fall for its temptress ways, through the city, and out of its gates it is deemed a treacherous day.

"Dark mane, please abide to this old sage for he is laden with hopes of a better place.
In order to survive.
You must listen closely or else the old maven will curse with rage"