(wherein I clarify the various significances of the days of our calendar)
Sophia, Sophia, let down your lion's mane
A cryin' shame if I'm not there to choose the Iron's name
—wait, who the fuck are you?—I fall as I reach to own it
Blinded by the light of the martyrs and the First of Paone
I found her by her singing, my mother and my lover,
Stranded in the desert sun like a mockery of John the Baptist
Gotta practice 'til I can crack and twist her mind
Install her in my kingdom beside me as the Queen of the Blind
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