The blood around me congealing so slowly is truly a sight to see.
This death and haunting settling in, rather comfortably, upon me.
Yet I do not rest, I do not falter, my heart shall never stop.
For I reap the near year's live one's like the last year's crop.
But to die would be eternal bliss, to know that I was done.
Yet if I leave my work unfinished, the rest will come undone.
To leave, to stumble, to trip and fall, all now seem melodious.
Maybe to leave my post and go home, yet it is only sweetly melodious.
Nothing to tempt me with unseen fruits, nothing to tempt me to stray.
For my hands will reap this day the blood of those who did stray.

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Slyphian, in the year 117 MA.