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