I'm going to be uncreative and make a parody of the Barrow-Wight song again:
Cold be hand and heart and pants
Cold be sleep under pants
Never more to wake from stony pants
Never, until the pants fail and the pants are dead
In the black pants the stars shall die
And still on pants here let them lie
Until the Dark Lord lifts his pants
Over dead pants and whithered pants.
Repetitive and boring, but I'm tired and I don't care much.
