brown eyes never looked so bitter, so lovely, so fierce as when I first saw you at the Blackwood with that wicked company.
you were always at home among cowards and thieves, bastards and drunks. but you scorned this life and you scorned us all. though the devil's daughter, you were silent and calm, and somehow sobering.
now speaking in hushed tones, I say, "we could leave this lion's den, these thieves and the honor among them." just ask and I would say, (if only I could say) "I will never touch another bottle as long as I live."
and I'd only ask one thing: stay with me as we grow old, grow tired. and when we are weary and ready for rest, we'll put down roots and throw up branches. harden over, intertwined as oak and linden, finally say:
"farewell, companion."
but we still stand. we mark this house as a home of faith and passion, of love and open locks.