i move thru rolling hills clothes caked from dust
a pilgrim with no master and
no one to trust
for love of the art dictates
my style and stance
fluid in the movements of hells
windstaff
kitana at my side in my hand sacred
scrolls
the blade reaps the souls words clash with frontal lobe
i journey the countryside sunrise to
sunset
thru bloodshed from foes neck i remain unchecked
suspect at large down this lone
path i march
throat parched from dry wind i remain unhealed
scarred from the years i dodged
enemy spears
and nights i lost love from the one
i dried tears
no one to swear allegiance to while i roam presestined
and strengthened as my wisdom remains unquestioned
left in the wreckage of this rite of
passage
casualties and threats flee
i remain a savage