Flicker thou shadows, hence thy must wander, in thine halls of ol',
Thy spectre's weary of thine spectre's fate.
Ye memories and parchment burned into ashen coal,
In the moonlight, hence tis the hour; late.
Rueing the hour, that did thy once succumb,
To thine death, in thine grave, under thou reaper's thumb.
Basking in thou crimson taint, thy garm forever ye must bare,
But thine, henceforth, is the fodder of thou wurms,
Under thy ground, must thou lay, for where,
Hence ye cometh before thee, thine betrayers'terms.
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