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Gunnlod sat me in the golden seat,
Poured me precious mead:
Ill reward she had from me for that,
For her proud and passionate heart,
Her brooding foreboding spirit.

The Poetic Edda, Hávamál

Murdered Anyone (Liquified)

A thousand of bottles,
A bottle of christ.
A clueless redeemer
All vampiric, disguised.
A gospel of lies,
A lust that shrouds another—
Unsacred heart
Eaten by blind one's brother.

Ulterior anguish,
Ulterior pain
The clearer your cuts are
The more you stand to gain
Twohundred songs
In lacking rhyme and reason:
Liquoric mist,
Yours is a filthy treason.

No need to feel anguish, no need for regret—
Not like you murdered anyone.
To be there before you required they are;
Of course they matter, all and none.

The harlequin whispers,
The harlequin waits.
His dress is outrageous,
But not so are his baits.
Motherly love excuses baser instict
A longing that lures them
From the wholesome precinct

No need to feel anguish, no need for regret—
Not like you murdered anyone.
To be there before you required they are;
Of course they matter, all and none.

Twilighted ricegrains,
The broader the strokes
Fashions the moonlight
In raven-black cloaks.
Left love-like hand
That gives its strokes in malice;
Androgynous thief
That slyly drains her chalice.

No need to feel anguish, no need for regret—
Not like you murdered anyone.
To be there before you required they are;
Of course they matter, all and none.

No need to feel anguish, no need for regret—
Of course they matter'd, all and none!
To be there before you now mist-led they are
So you can murder everyone.

Memory >


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