or in the fourth for

before anymore of any forsworn thoughts of mourned ore.

born in a worn world of a thorn, that bore no core.

between then until torn, its my pain it bore.

benign agreements abound we four, the siblings of Thor.

be it or be it not its always the knock at the door, answered first among the poor.

bequiffed a November banner order, wordless in the lore.

bemoaned indignation toured in a lavish lured pour.

benediction of a benedictive belligerent benefactor.