When A Witch Becomes A Pale Bride

Bishop Of Hexen 4 0 161 0
Muster scarce trails to pursue the final tales I might appeal once quizzed, tested & feeled Oh, these cuts-cut-open and observed Though barely alive-cautiously preserved Molested are my cries Dispersed like transparent rime Yet strangely I see trees Which assail with stabbing scenes Thus maladies & their remedies mix So violently they create loathsome tricks Labyrinth of angles-so twisted Shape & form the inevitable- Through the hexen's mind Through the sharpness of her nails Into her grim thoughts he now sails Lame and sterile pain Becomes now the most desirable pain Washed to a pond of tears Emptied to a valley of the gifted fears Goblets of wisdom dried When a witch becomes a pale bride To the raving beauty of a doubt A garland-old & worn-out "Here lies he who never lyed Whose skill so often hath been tryed Their prophecies shall still survive And ever keep their name alive"

Nalezli jste chybu?

Stručně prosím popište nalezenou chybu, můžete i okopírovat kousek textu.

    Kontrolní kód