The sight of war in the eye of nooks.
The look of high.
The moon of sight.
She.
The death of rite, he.
The blood of bleakness in heaven.
She.
I.
The dancer of gust, tells my madness story.
He tells the war inside her.
She.
I.
The bleak tones of tunes of dead.
The sight in the muse, murdered of some time in her heaven.
She.
The seed of love.
High of tune,
she.
Death rite, he
Sunidhi










