The word in throat your highness
The third toke chokes, high in this
Back shed, pure in my defiance
Spurning all alliance, turncloak
My rage is age of iron, wroth
Cold as Hoth my heart bound in iron confines
Chains of great weight, as bade Fenrir stay
Until the final, violent, schismal day, a dismal rain
Of blood as the belly of the snake is raked
By raging Thor envenomed, come the bitter lake.
Alchemisland 
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