At the mouth of that wretched cave,
at the boulder where she gives none but all her daily love for him.
they speak of silence. . .
they speak of good times. . .
at the memories of golden days. . .
Yet in his defense, he wanted none but all of them were stiff
as Tyr’s metal hand.
as Heimdall’s bluntness of his face.
In spite of it all,
He catapulted into a mind of atrocities.
His mind working so he can make that which will make all of them fall.
For all of them.
Yes ahh. . .
the poison is not working anymore,
In his head, the poison is there.