*If I'm even blamed, crucify me to a tree, my regret will be mocked to the ones who weep . . . pure death of a sin.
It's my happiness that prolongs your sadness. It's my madness, that decides your forgiveness.
My Rage is eager to shine pain on a star who cannot be saved.
You'll suffer ten thousand-fold to every hundred you deceive!
+++ Step away, fool
For I'm the new tool.
And to any sin that's never restored,
Bring it unto me, the mere of your lord . . .