The throne made of blood, can I sit on that? Who left this throne by killing his own that bloody ruthless rat! While I sit on this chair of war my brother's greeting the grim, All that light of ecstacy has faded into dim. While those wolves uncovering me I am losing my brothers in arms, Have become they also those thirsty wolves while that throne of blood, it charms. But was there one heart of gold who I always wanted in me, But is she's also embracing grim below those ropes, that tree. The springs have turned to winters flows that river of blood, The strong father's painted red lying on the mud. Decades have I gone through this, can you even imagine? Now I expect the grim of death while I burn within. ~samay