1. Iron Flame
To draw forth my arm in unholy thirst;
Or is that blood covet of my own hand?
Wouldst thou as all others name me the cursed?
Thy bright-gleaming edge speaks falsely of light
Was this of the fair Cuthalion purloined?
Alas that his breath was raped by thy bite!
Alas that with flesh and blood we were joined!
O darkling blade, hold fast thy steel-edged tongue
For in thy whispers I hear my own breath;
Our dour-handed deeds are on my head hung
While soulless alike we walk to our death.
This appetite for death I cannot sate
Together let us partake of our fate.