W̴̲̤͔͇̜̾͂̾̿̎̒͠͠e̸̞͇̥͖̙̔͆̂̀͌͑͐̈́̌̚͜ ̴̧̧̨͎̺̩͎͓̯͊͝͠s̵̨̥̖̀̎̈̏̋̋͛͝h̷̥̞̝̱̰̠̰͕̜̓͌͗̅̀̄̀o̶͓̓̇̾ų̷͙̪̳͇̚l̴̢̰̟̜͙̏̒̾̃͒d̶͉̰̲̋̓̈́̌̉̕̚ń̶̨̻͔̠̠͎̪̘͈̑̅̏͐͜’̴̨̭̜͇͖̠͕͇̹͋̑͊̄͛͗̓̆ṯ̴͚͓̽͝͠ ̸̨̝̙̱̪̣̯̎̒͗f̷̠̤̎̕ȩ̸̧̲͍̼̫̭̝̅͑͆͛̾́̊̈͑͑ą̷͓̲̬̱͔̥͇̌̽̌͗͐̈́͠r̶͕͑̈́́̎͒ ̶̫͇̲̤̫̈́̄̀̀͘͘c̷̨̢̡̤̞̹̱͇̒́̚ḩ̵̠̘̘̙͍̱̼̘̀͌̋̈́̓̾͛̕͘͝ą̵̛̼̩̣͍̦̣̹̎͆͗̕̕ͅņ̸͎̫͚̤̺̼̈̂͐͆̍̽̊̒g̴̨̲̺̙̘̳͎͇̜͂̋̒̊̂̽e̸̛͔̗̱̲̱̩͉̒̒̆̿͂̍̆̇̑ ̴̡̡̰̪̩̤̻̲͔́̏̀̈́́͗͗͛̒͝ï̷͚͔̀̚͝t̸̥̺͙̒̒̀͊̓̊̅͛͝ś̸̻̬̞̥̮̱͓̪̩̋́͝͝ͅe̵͍͚̮̓̏̽̌̉ļ̸͎̗̗͈̜̩̙̆̔̌̊̉̈̒͂͝f̶̧̧̯̙̞͙̟̭̂̓̉,̵̢̧̧̢̖̮̮͕̱̭͗͛̐̒͊̅̂́͠ ̵̡̨͈͙̗̹̲̲̥͎̂̀̈́̑͝B̷̨̰̝͓̤̃̑͛̏̄̇̒̃͝ͅù̴͎̬͗̊̽͛̿̆̚̚̕͜ẗ̴̨͇͑͐̋ ̸̢̡̛̳̗̭̥̗̂̊̐̌͛͝o̸͓͔̬͈̐̂̑͊͂̊͜n̴̢͚͇͉̣̦̘̈́̚̚͠l̶̠̅̑͊͐̎̅̇͘͝ỵ̴̢̛̥̟̹̣͐́̒̾͒̊͗̽ ̸̧͚̮͓̖̰̇̈́̔͐́̓̇̓̕͝ͅw̸̧̧̤̤̬̺̠̤͐̉͐͜͜h̶̫̪͈̾͊̈͋̈́͋̒̅ò̸̢̦̼̹̝̜̠̰ ̶̝͖̬̯̬̼͂w̴̧̦͓̘͇̐̀͝ͅẻ̶̟̜̔͆́̈́̆͛ ̶̥̆m̶͍̏̇̊̍̽͒̌̇̑̈́ì̶̗̞̎͊̋̊̾͂͗͆g̶̢̧̲̫̲̪̥̱̭̖͆̀h̷̢̞̗̖̜͉̼̱̋̉̾̏̍͌̓̔̕͝t̶̨̧̛͓̖͉̻͓͓̝ ̸̢̛̘͇̗̲̣̂͒̓̍̓̓̐͜͝͝ͅͅç̷̭̮͔̭̉̊h̵̩͉̼̤̓͝a̶̘̖̤̬͆̇̈̌̃͘͝͝ǹ̶̳͓̿̑́͑g̵̡̛̮̘̱̳̼̊̂̇̄́̔͊e̴̫̮̳̒̐́̈́̕ ̸̜͍͖̗͔͌̈́͌̾ĩ̶̡͖̟̲͙̩̥̮̂̈͌̈́̂̑́̽͠ń̸̨̨͇̳̥̺̬̲̩̎͋͌̓͜ṯ̴̜̲̐̑͛ọ̷̱̺̹̇̌̑̈́̚͝ͅͅ.̵̹͎͎͈͍̜͓̞͎̳́͘


And who are you, the proud lord said,
that I must bow so low?
Only a cat of a different coat,
That’s all the truth I know.
In a coat of gold or a coat of red,
A lion still has claws,
And mine are long and sharp, my lord,
As long and sharp as yours.
And so he spoke, and so he spoke,
That lord of Castamere,
But now the rains weep o’er his hall,
With no one there to hear.
Yes now the rains weep o’er his hall,
And not a soul to hear.
And so he spoke, and so he spoke,
That lord of Castamere,
But now the rains weep o’er his hall,
With no one there to hear.
Yes now the rains weep o’er his hall,
And not a soul to hear.

𝕃𝕠𝕜𝕚𝕟