Passing through my core, you inquire,
What passes through your soul, consumed by fire?
This was the vow, the promise, the decree,
Oh, betrayer, always denying, never free.
In the final reckoning, you'll be proven true, how grand!
Fingers will point, alas, at those who would disband.
'Daagh,' they call them, see them seated there,
Dying upon your soul, each and every night they share.
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