The true ring of conviction will leave a scar. Two snakes recoiled staring into each other’s venomou’s grasp, where the maiden’s chained in the dreary dungeon, but she ain’t the slave. She is Power laying in Maldance, carring a child, where he carry the burden of a King.
He is the violence only the cosmos has seen, as he swung the Sword of Tyranny in Maldance, he left a scar in the land where the river now flows. And in moral harmony the flowers bloom on the shores. It’s harmonic sway attracted life into a once desolent and dead place. He is the Master, the wielder of; The Power of Creation, he whom himself is Power.
And in the Power of Son, his Power of Creation passed along, his daugther, his eternal rebirth, one master in slumber, she the throne.