When the very ground beneath me cracks
and my brittle sword lies broken
then I will ask that no quarter be drawn
andwhen the victor next sees the dawn,
no words of regret are spoken.
When I approach the pearly gates
treading upon the clouds above,
I will not weep for you nor I,
for I know the code we both live by
and the cruel gods that we both love.
When the victor has met his demise
and meets his victim in the next world,
let us let the past be the past
and not allow our anger to last
for you cannot shake hands when your fist is curled.
