Fin Sadonvum Krosis.
Below The Throat, we have no hold,
peace is shattered, and none are bold.
Brothers weep, then burn foes,
nothing helps, and nothing grows.
Thu'um takes lives, against our will,
how long till war, takes it's fill?
We remain, with our secrets,
as men kill others, like killing crickets,
Yol, Yol, Kein ahrk Dinok.
Dar los fin Sadonvum Krosis.
Oh Paarthunax, teach them too,
and stop this never ending rue.
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Whats half of this mean? I speak werewolf not Dovo.. Doa.. Dova whatever...
Crabby:
Something I would want you to consider. If you decide to post a few more poems over the next few... more