I'm getting consumed by this fever.
The vicious flames of a once happy believer.
I have almost forgotten the heaviness that comes with a feverish soul.
Beautiful golden Mercure-like blood dripping from the spirit I tore.

I can see glimpses of a blue sky lingering inside of my mind.
An unconfirmed reality too good for me to hide.
The soft rayons of the sun run softly across my face.
Giving me the courage to face my deepest desires with such grace:

To lead a life amidst death as the divine angel who can save the day.
What a beautiful role to play.
The invincible soldier we all hail.
The living church of those astray.

The mere purpose itself is noble, worthy.
Yet the motive is contradictory.
But please let me be.
I don't want to live as a corpse, a nightmare I don't want to see.

It is the close encounters of death's kisses that make me feel the most alive.
It is against the slow death of modern life that I strive.
It is the suffering with others that makes me feel the most alive.
It is against the slow death of a meaningless life that I strive.
It is the heavy panting, the fractured bones, the silence after a shared battle that makes me feel the most alive.

I can hear the cry to war as gentle as a whisper,
as quiet as the calm before the thunder.
In this world of sweet blood and sweat and rain, I wish to wander