Death of Sed

But it may not be so.
Would that it may not be so...

The children in the cellar
Sow tears of remorse

For many a wandering soul
Doth sojourne through life

In indescribable torment
Death's mercy is a steady hand

Would that foul poison
Had not past his fairest lips

Lips of crimson they were
That sparkled under fairest snow

And all the living world
Continues

in tom foolery.