facing down into
the blood-soaked soil
the prong pierces my neck
as it's only a swords length away...
from the years to come
my words are dripping red
i drink my pride
as i shall close my eyes
no more
the prong twists in the gap of flesh
facing down into
the blood-soaked soil
i swear to all of which i possess
and i swear to all of which i am
to abhor the fear
i deny...
and the years to come
are only a swords length away
i deny... |