Harrowing
in the Fen
Nicholas
Pettross
Mangled in the mud || mourning a lost sky
Tears never tarrying flow || and I drink as I cry
Over men dead long ago || deep in the dirt
Of betrayal and beatings || born of jealously and love
A count is made of the seconds || swearing on Monte Cristo.
Tears never tarrying flow || and I drink as I cry
Over men dead long ago || deep in the dirt
Of betrayal and beatings || born of jealously and love
A count is made of the seconds || swearing on Monte Cristo.
A rider in all black || bearing a blade
Swift from shadow || steals at my heart
Sweeps in the sound || of pounding blood in the ears
Is there room for love || on this red Earth
Is Joséphine a shade || ever shifting and never settling?
Swift from shadow || steals at my heart
Sweeps in the sound || of pounding blood in the ears
Is there room for love || on this red Earth
Is Joséphine a shade || ever shifting and never settling?
Blond hair fills my eyes || to the brim of control
My vengeance || will not be visited
Nor my guilt || vindicated beyond doubt
I shall die on the moors || mourning a lost sky.
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