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A story is told of an angry mob that sends a message to the object of their hatred. |
| (Excerpt from Tales of The Wandering Inn) There! A man came riding, riding,riding,riding, riding 'cross the Moor. And, behind him, a village's swarm of fire, did so yearningly come forth. O' Come back, ye sullied rider! Ye soldier of growing sin, Murderer of Our Love, and Killer of Our Kin. We see you, bloody rider! We feel you with our hearts, that, in your devilish hatred, you did so hastily tear apart. We know what you have done! We know what you will do and should our fire catch you, for sure you will be through. And know this, ye wicked rider! Your undoing we have in store. Do not think you've greatly won as you go smugly riding, riding, riding,riding, riding 'cross the Moor. |