First, you lie on your back atop a forsaken throne.
The White Queen brandishes a sword of frost.
Second, you wander before a throne of dry bones.
The Black King gently strokes a crown of sin.
I see mottled blood melt the snow beneath you.
I see burning tears flow across the dance steps at your feet.
I look into your eyes.
They say that sin is the soul's promised land.
All roads lead to the same end.
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