Roarcrow
I am the curse of my substance; the constant outpour of inwar. I am faceless; forever with the night. I am nearly the attempt we sincere the fog. I am unrest; no doubt to now a clog. I am to her unreason tied to abandon in a past. I am tomorrow without its speak: for how I slur. I am the sorrow and will not weak: for how I burden the damnstill. I am the roarcrow.











