You, a traveller, a helper, a god,

You, a wanderer, a drifter, so odd.

You, a warrior, a killer, of hate,

You, a redeemer, a healer, too late.

You, who lost, and never could find,

You, so sad, it made you more kind.

You, drenched, in the blood of whole worlds,

You, with secrets, that never unfurl.

You, eyes dark, with sorrow and guilt,

You, with renown you regret being built.

You, who travels across the great skies,

You, with such rage in your ancient eyes.

You, so easy, to just jump off the shelf,

You, who loathes nothing more than yourself.

You, who feels pain, in every breath,

You, who'd be thankful, for the gift of sweet death.