As it exists—it has never existed.
As through the Lamb—the rabbit will consume its flesh.
His guilt—his childhood traumas that are deeply distressing—keep him imprisoned in the claws of raven beaks, systematically carving his organs wide open, as he pours out his repentance—nevertheless—the effects of torment still linger.

He is distraught when the crimson fluid of his subjects spill in his hands—
When he is laughing—it is only the ill will that is making his innermost feelings vulnerable, as the consequences of his own sinister deeds keep stalking him.

Weeper Reaper Rabbit—why are you in despair these days—you claimed the world is at your disposal—are you paralyzed by your own self-reproach that cannot allow you to move ahead?

Your time is limited to your sickening acts—no such thing as a perfectly shaped lamb—for a lamb can be hidden beneath the carnivorous body of a ravenous predator—the wolf.