[Audio]
Jaded sheep do turn their eyes from heaven, their supplications settled in their stomach as stones. The wolf stalks amongst you, dark in its glee, and the grass has lost its savor. Ah, but therein lies the tragedy of it.
[She hums a brief, and melancholy note.]
Come little ones, come. For this one has hands merciful and just, and would shelter those I might.
Let this one pluck the thorn out of it.
[She hums a brief, and melancholy note.]
Come little ones, come. For this one has hands merciful and just, and would shelter those I might.
Let this one pluck the thorn out of it.