Battle to my death,
Without fear, without worry;
Create my story, and be feared.

Souls lost or longed,
But never prolonged the spear.
Lost cities and palaces,
The sand covered them all.

Meadows run dry,
The colonies fall prey.
Sad are the years,
Yet they pass by.

Why battle to death?

The truth to be shamed,
Lies prevail the sea.
Man wishes more,
And condemns the truth.

Death clears the path,
No mist to the mirror.
The Crusader is dear.
              
-D

Thou, dishonorable Highlan' skellum,
Thy dreary whunstane shall not see again!
Nor thy unworthy Clan Banner,
Yet my Blade!
Yet my Blade!
Gleaming here, owre,
At auld Stirling Bridge,
Wi' fiery bluid imbued,
Graving still deep mirk stane,
Under yon Steel Glare
Ne'er to wane!

Love is a woven dichotomy

The sweetest of fruits and most merciless of storms

On the heart of each palm, pain-salted tears

we all have, share and hold

Under the and sun-kissed days

and moon-soul nights

We choose to maintain our stories

while fighting against the tyranny of life

and its harsh game of glass chess

For which none of us can truly escape

but play to soon become skilled against

Strife's master

So with scarred skin and wounded hearts,

We trudge through rings of Hell

for the mere test of Heaven on Earth

too busy feeling sorry for myself
to listen to them,
my pain hurts others in unforgivable ways,
when can I stop fighting this battle?
coz that's when I can stop fighting them

their trust and love
I don't deserve.
this battle isn't theirs,
its mine

I need to do what's right,
one touch and it's all gone.
then I can stop hiding,
stop fighting
against them.
breathe one last breath
they'll cry for a day,
but realise its all for the best

things will be easier
for them, not just me.
the war I'm fighting- over
I admit defeat

i'm sorry

like sorry can cut it