In the heat of summer,
I thought I'd remember the sword forever,
amidst new memories will there linger,
the burn of a poker on my chest,
the rips in my skin,
blood racing down my thighs,
remnants of the steel that pierced my skin.
The brown leaves fall,
and the blood no longer leaves traces on skin,
the ghost of the sword is made of stainless steel,
nights filled with owls,
shadows in every room,
remnants of the steel that pierced my skin.
The cold winds grow,
no one to call, no one to hold,
the sword is sharp and cutting,
the storm weathers on,
rain on my windows,
remnants of the steel that pierced my skin.
The flowers begin to grow,
the smell is sweet, a tempting promise,
the sword is rusted,
the blood has been washed from my skin,
every warm memory fills my mind,
remnants of the steel that pierced my skin,
gone at last.