Screams of steel,
Parting the night air
Like a ghost ship
And the mornings fog.

Dead man's gold,
Buried below,
Hidden, a waiting
The razors bounty

Blood shed,
Arms holding the hope
One more passionate cut
And the treasures home.

Dig, for the course,
Shall show the light,
The lighted path
As the blood flows

Love is forgotten,
As the blade makes its home
Deeper and deeper,
The cuts become.

When shall the pain die?
Is it when the pain becomes
Becomes too strong?
Or, when the flow stops?