The dying Queen will pass away and then the young, the great armies will target one another, great turmoil and sadness endure, the plains will be scorched, a hot wax poured over the forests and sanctuary, the Seraphic glow hiding in the dark, the rivers and lakes turn to red mud, cold minds and madness loom for the peasants, the black and lapping water of the cursed lake, the dew on the grass will sparkle and boil, among the sweet pines there is no respite, beneath the fierce moon, her eyes open under the soft dirt, a cedar box with a cross burned into it, a mouth full of ornate stones and golden chains in place, the flood of stars looks like strange cells inside a body, perfume for blood, a hooded shroud, it puzzles the heart and the valley will once again be full of light, disobedience forgiven, a lifeless rib for you, hyacinthine locks, a ghastly smile among the faithless, faithful, only she, bronze rain water on her face to name her, a wilderness of grace and wild abyss, another morning, a dulcet sunrise worthy of paradise.