Not An Angel Of The Air, Bird

This Tyrant, Whose Sole Name Blisters Our Tongues,was Once Thought Honest.

Death Is My Son-in-law. Death Is My Heir. My Daughter He Hath Wedded. I Will Die, And Leave Him All. Life, Living, All Is Death’s.

My Cake Is Dough, But I'll In Among The Rest, Out Of Hope Of All But My Share Of The Feast.

All Gold And Silver Rather Turn To Dirt, An 'tis No Better Reckoned But Of These Who Worship Dirty Gods.

There Are No Tricks In Plain And Simple Faith.