History knows a lot of psychics, predictors of Death Tongues of the Tartar ruin lives with one simple guess Among them stands one curious awkward shade Her name is Mary; she knows how to talk with Fate
Thongs of the mages scream loud that they are the only who knows But Mary still silently look down, too many corpses are buried underground
Because her gift was a new way to kill So accurate, against her own will And that was the reason To open a season of hammer hit truth
As always main word was “refuse” And people filled this word with hate In case of answer was “U’ll loose” This armless wrestle with thy Fate
When Lord Creator bless a child He twists its body with his breath Or newborn one will be damn blind Cause price of gift is ugliness
And trace of it has length of Life The Life of Pariah lasts unknown By unknown stranger armed with knife She marked end point by her own
The final augury like before Was sharply strict forevermore With dreadful smell of cinnamon Black Mary silently has gone