O, My Offence Is Rank, It Smells

Comets Importing Change Of Times And States, Brandish Your Crystal Tresses In The Sky And With Them Scourge The Bad Revolting Stars.

The Hideous God Of War.

Conscience Is But A Word That Cowards Use, Devised At First To Keep The Strong In Awe

Thus Is His Cheek The Map Of Days Outworn.

I Am Wrapped In Dismal Thinking.