Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave from the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave.
“I definitely didn't want to be that person that came out and was like, 'O.K. I'm going to lead every parade.'”
“On the king's gate the moss grew gray; The king came not. They call'd him dead; And made his eldest son, one day, Slave in his father's stead.”