- cifra
Virtues of blood
Follows through
Bringing our shadows
For hundreds of miles
Of tattered and torn
Wounds upon wounds
Foolish force
Grow to or sever
Brushing my teeth
From the wounds
Ending a curse
Just shadow, the world
Just shadow, humanity
Humanity
Right is the Hand
Rewarding our son
Clutching the scepter of a real God
Drunken with grief
And sorrows
For us who live in the shade
We wander
Limb from limb
Virtues of blood
Follows through
Bringing our shadows
For hundreds of miles
Of tattered and torn
Wounds upon wounds
