(Sigh)
~~~~~~
In dire places, there is distrust,
where the bulwark, fall to dust,
like the igni, seething blood,
wondering if the sky is only for birds.

I see sentinels on the watch,
are they standing alive?
or are they just corpse?

Lost isn't the winter, it is the spring,
so I sigh a tale... that I can't sing.

Inhaling the shrivelled pieces of skin in the air,
the situations' confined in grims and the dares,
I see the sky covered in flares,
I see the sky...