And may the icy bars of infamy seal the shrine of our acquaintance,
to Archangel rush down from the scarred sky and chase the flaming blades of their swords deep into the body of our friendship,
may be good and evil combine to take us to the clear view of the truth and discord between us, to stir,
to the floodgates of hell itself open to inmates and their mouldering us pass rush around the roots of our relationship to be in the morass of doubt,
extends as a fleeting thought, a smell, a memory of you or a look in your Skarabäusaugen and the sky tears, which differs Poor and is fixed again by deep and sincere love.
PZ'10
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