Pale Discretion
Creates of mind, a wound
Wounded by treachery
Repairing blackness only
Revenge holding motivity
On wings she'll deliver
All that you would hope to be
A fork tongue is whispering
A prize too golde
Gifts, they will Whiher
Loosing their lustery
A wanderer wears a lonely gun
Being ware the witch's tongue
Speaking chants in rhyme
She shows you just what you want to see
Then she'll switch to rob you blind
Leaving you in misery
On wings she'll deliver
All that you would hope to be
A fork tongue is whispering
A prize too golde
Gifts, they will Whiher
Loosing their lustery
A wanderer wears a lonely gun
Being ware the witch's tongue
