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Fiordmoss
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Madstone
Good night wolf bite
One of a kind
Lie low, wipe all traces of a fight
Charcoal blind foal
Limps by her side
Bow and arrow lead them to the hole
She may be the child of spring
Let her in to greet her king
She wore a madstone
Skin tight moonlight
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Along her spine
Fireflies swarm wild in a chilling rite
Warm ink, sweet milk
Run down her thighs
Boil glow unknown, simmer until dawn
She may be the child of spring
Let her in and hear her sing
She wore a madstone
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