I'd go to war for you, my dear. I'd set the world at odds with itself, and burn all the fields to the ground. I'd build majestic monuments, and send waves of young men to their end, in a kind of ritualistic sacrifice, for your affections. In your eyes there is the demand for blood. Your form compels us to violence. Sweet, beautiful, girl, you are reason, and causation. We are bound thus for conflict. "None may have you that I may not". I must be victor, or victorious; while all other must bow. Those that cannot oppose, shall obey. This is the abhorrent nature of existence, of which I revel. One hand on my weapon, the other at your throat; and while my eyes are fixed on that dark circlet that sings of soul; orbs reflecting vainly, vanity, and lust; the hands of mine enemy slip themselves around my throat and squeeze.