The Scottish Poem
The blood runs black upon the ground
And the flight of birds darkens the sky.
See your black works as you look round:
It makes you stop and wonder, "Why?"
Dagger in your breast,
The handle twards your hand,
No more can you rest,
Your crown's an ever-tightening band.
Sleep no more, sleep is dead.
Think no more, thought is fled.
The blood burns red upon your hands
And scarlet thoughts streak across your mind,
Flame blooms crimson cross the lands
Whilst you steadily unwind.
You've opened Hell gate,
And you've let forth the flood,
Doom is your fate
For killing the good.
Think no more, thought is fled.
Love no more, love is shed.
The blood soaks through so dark and deep
That even night no longer can hide
Your nature-altering deeds,
Your more than insane crimes.
Soul-drenched with blood,
Mind-weary with fear,
Reason trampled in the mud,
You've killed all you hold dear.
Love no more, love is shed.
Sleep no more, sleep is dead.