ImpureMore Like This
Would that I had ne'r set thy course to indulgence.
Won the Kraken's fractured slumber to thine own, the titan's curse thrives not but to dethrone, turned grim, yet void of true intone.
My hand is seldom sought from Albion, framed in bare sky, seems cause permits awed spectacles. For calm the waves, a gentle hum, and to the rain, no dance had come. The sails breathe still, the mast serene, my face doth bathed in sweet unseen. Hark! The island, rare to spy, for but resides deserted brine, and waves do all, save intertwine. Let anchor loose and ropes to fl