• xixlinn 75w


    'Neath me have clubbed the agony of farfetched truths,
    Into a subtle melody of their war cries.
    My land has weeped the tears of a son's cry and bled waters of a father's.
    Long in the anguish of one too cold.
    For the brethren 'neath us speak in the old cherished tongue.
    Have we come to shed a light in the burried hearts of our warriors,
    Or carry on with covers of flesh on our eyes into the illusion of the brightness beyond.
    With love,
    The letterbox