My lord, for you, young children have been burned,
Heart brother nearly drowned in fire bright.
And please, my lord, for answers I have yearned
The others tell me often might makes right,
But still, the screams, they echo in my mind.
Now few are left who do not flinch in fear,
Because the one who burns must not be kind.
For this, none dare approach me as a peer.
Please listen, I have tried to follow you.
I think the most I have to give is speed
To stop the screams, but ev’ry day I rue
That death’s cold grasp is all that others heed.
And yet you called heart brother mine to me,
Witch powers, demon horse, and spice-cake tea.