Nothing that breathes is above betrayal. Nothing that breathes is divine.
Out from the shadows, well-wisher. The gleam of your blade gives you away. Drawn from me, my smiling assassin, Meet the blood that moved you- The blood of encouragement Spilling as common water.
They will serve you...
Long live the king. Soak up to your arms in his blood.
Long live the king; They will serve you well.
And you loyal friend, leave an ice pick in my neck as it were mine to keep. How terribly cold.
I breathe, and count my shallow breaths. Add another edge: Be sure to twist the blade.
If come one, come all of this, a celebration of treachery and scissored flesh. Fall in, stain your steel in festive red- Here, where the sheep are butchers.
A fresh patch of skin to pierce, One cannot resist.
Unsteady steps. Each waning, determined for purchase. I am he who falters, stricken with one thousand blades. With unsteady steps, I find my balance in deception. Step by burning step.
Warm in the presence of malice. Barefoot among a skulk of men. Eyes ahead and taller still, I never look back. No.
I knew not your names. I knew your numbers. I knew you all too well.
Two blades for every inch of flesh. Ensanguined. This is that which did not kill me.
There's always room for one more blade...
Not much a sight for sore eyes, The harrowed form of living will: Bent, And black, And so terribly cold.
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Copy to Clipboard: Nothing that breathes is above betrayal. Nothing that breathes is divine.
Out from the shadows, well-wisher. The gleam of your blade gives you away. Drawn from me, my smiling assassin, Meet the blood that moved you- The blood of encouragement Spilling as common water.
They will serve you...
Long live the king. Soak up to your arms in his blood.
Long live the king; They will serve you well.
And you loyal friend, leave an ice pick in my neck as it were mine to keep. How terribly cold.
I breathe, and count my shallow breaths. Add another edge: Be sure to twist the blade.
If come one, come all of this, a celebration of treachery and scissored flesh. Fall in, stain your steel in festive red- Here, where the sheep are butchers.
A fresh patch of skin to pierce, One cannot resist.
Unsteady steps. Each waning, determined for purchase. I am he who falters, stricken with one thousand blades. With unsteady steps, I find my balance in deception. Step by burning step.
Warm in the presence of malice. Barefoot among a skulk of men. Eyes ahead and taller still, I never look back. No.
I knew not your names. I knew your numbers. I knew you all too well.
Two blades for every inch of flesh. Ensanguined. This is that which did not kill me.
There's always room for one more blade...
Not much a sight for sore eyes, The harrowed form of living will: Bent, And black, And so terribly cold.
There's always strength for one last breath.
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