Another day, and I will shed my way;
travellers, the innocent, are my blood’s target.
I may live or die, but it traces out my existence —
the secret I keep locked away, in this battle of the mind.
Words are my sword, and sorrow my blood,
heir of a royal bloodline, wasted in surrender;
you may see no more death in the world,
but the soul-ripper has its own way…
I could never stand beneath the words of love;
we may travel all this world alone,
battling the present for the despair of one past,
fuelling a battle of the mind, every second.
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