Lashes heavily lidded with distorted cognitions.

Upon your steed my boy, we shall jump upon our horses and pillage the land. Strip it bare of it’s people, of it’s riches.
Come now my boy, for the sun is rising and our men weary.
The time to drink and be merry will shine it’s light down onto us again,
So rise to your horses my men,
We will ride out into the horizon, leave blood in our wake.

Art
Murmurs
Who am I?
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