Soon Comes The Cold, And

There Is No Shame In Loving. If Your Septons Say There Is, Your Seven Gods Must Be Demons. In The Isles We Know Better. Our Gods Gave Us Legs To Run With, Noses To Smell With, Hands To Touch And Feel. What Mad Cruel God Would Give A Man Eyes And Tell Him He Must Forever Keep Them Shut, And Never Look At All The Beauty In The World? Only A Monster God, A Demon Of The Darkness.

Sins May Be Forgiven. Crimes Require Punishment.

Do The Dead Frighten You?

My Featherbed Is Deep And Soft, And There I’ll Lay You Down, I’ll Dress You All In Yellow Silk And On Your Head A Crown. For You Shall Be My Lady Love, And I Shall Be Your Lord. I’ll Always Keep You Warm And Safe, And Guard You With My Sword. And How She Smiled And How She Laughed, The Maiden Of The Tree. She Spun Away And Said To Him, No Featherbed For Me. I’ll Wear A Gown Of Golden Leaves, And Bind My Hair With Grass, But You Can Be My Forest Love, And Me Your Forest Lass.

Has My Tale Turned You Speechless? Come, Curse Me Or Kiss Me Or Call Me A Liar. Something.