ú Z ú O ú R ú L ú A ú K ú O ú F ú ßÜÛÛßßßÜ ßÜÛÛßßßÛÜ Û ßÜÛÛßßßÛÜÜÛÛß ßÜÛÛßßßÛÜ ÞÛÝÞÛÝ ÜÛÞÛÝ ÜÛ ÜÛÛß Þ ÞÛÝ ÛÝ úLiteratureú Û ÜÜ Û ßßÛÝ Û Û ßßß ÜÛÛß Û ÛÛÝ úLiteratureú úDepartmentú ÞÛÝ ÞÛ ÞÛÝ ÛÜ ÞÛÝ ÞÛÝ ÜÛÛß ß ÞÛÝ ÞÛÝ ÞÛÝ úDepartmentú Ü ÛÛÛÜÜÛÛß ÛÛÛ ÞÛÛÝÛÛÛÜ ÛÛÛ ÜÛÛßÛÛÛ ÛÛÛÜÜÛÛßÜ Þ°ÝÞ°Ý Þ° °ÝThe knife that determines fate,Þ° °Ý ±±°±²is yielded by those who hate.±±°±² ²°²±²Yet always clean, and never mean,²°²±²   °°±±²²Û²²±±°°are judged by those who've seen.°°±±²²Û²²±±°° °°±²±°°A son, born much to soon,°°±²±°° Þ°±²±°Ýbares the signs and scars that lead his doom. Þ°±²±°Ý °±²±°Life in torture, passed day by day,°±²±° °±²±°was only noticed by those who pray.°±²±° °±²± Deprived eternity to those who kill,°±²±  °±² °like this poor child who always will.°±² ° °± °±Relatives and friends dead by the hour,°± °± ° °±²much grief & anger, need the flower.° °±² Þ°±²ÝLife is tough, it's on the edge,Þ°±²Ý ß²ßwhich brought about a Morbid Sacrilege.ß²ß