Sticks and stones might purge the sin
But can never douse the hell within.
A fire burning through the night
To blind the weak and dim the sight
Of all who see a golden dawn.
The morrows bring the cold and ice
As gods bet on lives and roll the dice.
How sad it makes this greying heart
To realize his only part
Was always just to be the pawn.
And as one does, I embrace their scorn.