Dead hearts will beat again, for nothing stays from life instead, when rather they could see more time ... and not be extended, sworn to crime.
For it's a villainy to stay your hand when chance comes your way, across your land, an arm put against it, to steel... against that around which life does wheel.
How could one see in life so dark, a terrible writhing red heart.... though, when one is seen upon the rack... it's impossible to see through this crack.
The wall is fragmented, distorted in shape... better grab a hold and destroy it by the nape.
