Again with death. Haven't you people had enough death? Killing and murder and suicidal tendencies. When had death become the new sex? The threat oozing off of everyone's lips? The implication behind every innuendo? Or were they all just weaklings and fools who could only feel strong with the threat of death to hide behind. 

Well it didn't scare Mordred. If anything, it might be the only way he'd experience freedom again. He was at once offended by the girl, indeed by all of their collective morbidity, but at the same time he pitied her reliance upon such tactics. His heart ached in it's sympathy, and still he felt insulted to the core. Maybe that was what pushed him to speak in a vague sort of poetry. A song from his madness to hers -well, a couplet at least: 

"Give me liberty or give me the kiss of death, 
I can't fear the Reaper if I've got nothing left!"