In What Is Thine Own Righteousness?

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Hearken not low fiend of distemper

Thy sheathe is marred with stains

Of them you've slain to end your own pain

How so art thou different

Mention not the thing done thee

When ye do likewise upon thy foes

Thy words are poison as them ye hate

For not that ye say doth better make

A wound thou didst open with bile

Heard by another who doth then revile

Markest the cause and blame no other

For the blood on thy hands is the blood of thy brothers
© 2014 - 2024 Valkaneer
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