Peacocks will flap their capes and flashes their colors
Admiring the beauty that holds it in a collar
Men born of the peacock will be born in the glory of violet hues
They will eat the serpents and their brethren
Their glory will rival the serpent's venom
Pride fills their feathers and glorifies their slaughter of the serpents
Men of peacock, have you no shame?
Your teeth bears to the people's skin and bear their faults
Shards of mirror will tear you open and clash against your veins
Your head will be rotten with apples and burried in it's seed
Hear this now, you who are born of the peacock's feathers
When the time comes, you will writhe in a bath of mirrors
Will it only be then, when you realize
the burdens carried by men of Pride?
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