seeing those that praise the rite,
to challenge them in flight or fight,
knows the door and must be weary,
leaving the womb of sanctuary,

for in the whiteness of the snow,
even deeper the tales of woe,
that in the whiteness much has grown,
and the future still lurks unknown,

now the rapiers blade is dull,
leaving the cudgel to make the cull,
tis a battle when fray confuse,
when the slayer is you they choose,