A sheathed sword despised,
     the sword unsheathed, slays;
Grace and patience bestowed
     on the rebellion to turn.
The dead returned to life,
     but the living remains dead;
Life shrouded in secrecy,
     lest the dead irrevocably condemned.

****** ME
Make Me See
Who I should be.
Who unsheaths me
For I ain't Free until The ****** Od life has
MADE ME

Think I'm gonna start over again
Grow myself some new skin
I'm tired of this one
It can't stand the sun

So I'm gonna sit in the rain, wash it all away
Just waiting for my someday

I'll try to wear a grin
As I'm shedding off this skin
But I fear it's my only sheath
I wonder if something's underneath
I hope that once I peel away this skin
I won't become invisible again

An aura of every color.

Mystifying.

Yet, you sheathe it.