Projectile, like a hairspring needle born blood pack. Rise from sufficient maligns to further the cause for the unborn. Breach back, a spear of hate transforms into a queen with the head of a boar. This cities walls becomes my tomb. Fill your throat up with salt. Cut your legions of fire back to the blood soaked wall of east. Suffer. A knot inside the unborn opens it’s pale eye. Pale horse. Pale mind.