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.
The city's 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 of the unborn opens its pale eye.
Pale Horse. Pale mind