The epic tale of the cursed child destined to transform the world begins with "Cold Clay". His birth, the curse placed upon him with his mother's dying breath, his seduction by the forest witch, his burning alive, and his resurrection.
Dark was the day.
Cold was the clay.
Love was the way
she made me.
Ash was the rain.
In her last pain,
cursed was the name
she gave me.
Guitars unstrung,
singing unsung,
lovers unwon,
they blamed me.
Mother exhumed,
in her rotting womb,
tomb within tomb
they encaved me.
*
Wild was the wolf
with fangs in her mouth,
enchantment her howl,
she raised me.
Cruel were the crows
perched black on grey stones.
A cracked clever tongue
they trained me.
White was the witch,
soft was her breast,
dry scarlet the lips
that tamed me.
Flesh prey to beasts,
tortured by priests,
praying release,
she betrayed me.
*
Wroth was their breath,
thirsty for death.
They torched the forest
and came for me.
Weird were their words,
woven their cords,
silver the swords
that maimed me.
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