For which light and dark lived in harmony, but without darkness their would be no candle light. And without light their wouldn't be shadows. The very first with sharp teeth as blood was dripping off on them, and their feet in the rusted grass. the swing of thorns was the first throne of fear, its sharped spikes as you hold onto it; it cuts you and beholds you. As it is latching it self on you in the inside, it wont quit its goal of another master. Fatal clouds still exist, even in the heart of the blue sky; but they wish it wasn't such thing as a rainbow future. The beginning was rather harsh onto the grey, dirty skin; as they were still seated on the throne of fear, below them was nothing but the void of chaos as everything was silent as death took its tole. Leaving was not the answer but staying drinking the blood of torture did not expire. Simple as it could be, but their more behind my naked legs. The world of now darkness and misroute now connected with the light angels in the other realm, not known to those below, although the one who is sitting on such throne was taken, chosen, in Her Beloved. She will not fall in dread, but know all under the cloaks. Such young and fragile girl you are, till this day you sings the songs of those whos heart is now stone, is now in the collection of your own socket. You will not know her secrets to her own songs and lullaby's but you will know the Queen of the Rotten.