Bones and skulls addorn these walls,
But skins hang small inside these halls.
Silent screams of ache, of ache,
Grey Jeyne, Red Jeyne, all things hate.
Blood will ride over your head,
Squeeze you tight until you're dead.
Willow cries and storms the rain,
Weeping Water all the same.
Toothless holes with cloves and wine,
He won't have want, he's mine, he's mine.
Me, only ever me,
That smile does please yet sickens me.
Three thrones I'll sit,
Hornwood, Snow, the Dreadfort,
Bleeding out lost fingertips.
It twists and it peels,
It blisters, it blackens,
Turns it sour and
Fouls the kraken.
There are lambs in my gardens,
Muddy and screeching,
Vile and pleading.
Burning bile inside my throat,
Delighting with their flash of hope.
They've lost their legs,
And I've plucked their throats.
Forget embellished satin,
Father, I have new coats.
The sewage drains,
That last bright light.
That's hurled beneath,
A starry night.
Swinging swords like hacking meat,
Mulled wine tastes so Kyra sweet.
Eyes and ears addorn these walls,
But mouths hang small inside these halls.