… Foredoomed walked cobbled streets
Rubbing off on passers spreading ill blood.
Locking arms with old strangers’, their humn
Of hate faintly creeps through Chapel Doors
Melting the noble Priests GOLDEN CURCIFIX
Closing the innocent child’s eyes to the
Drop of blood. Spelt!
… Even song falls making no sound
Young maiden doest thou shudder
Belle Tourney unadorned with spite
Passion fills thy veins!
… “Impunity?!” Laughs carnage; none is!
There here- Saints lose faith, shrink from hope.
Compassion on enchantment of misdoubt
Carried in letters of relic engravers.
… Old hag doest thou cry out!?
Death fills thy veins
Relic is thy hope!! …