Too many underestimate the power of the pen.
They are mesmerized by the argent arc of a sword.

Imagine seeing a silvery blade dancing to the music of death.
Marred by the poetry of blood
A trumpet to the cries of war
But it also reflects the wielder.
When looking at it, you can see yourself.
But in my eyes, I can see the steel's heart.
As it's in your hand, preparing to protect, it's polished until it shines like luna wildfire.
In the end, I believe the true beauty of a katana comes not from the hilt or engravings, but from the steel.
How many songs has it sang in our battles, can you imagine...?
A katana's beauty comes from the polished steel as it's shines so brightly
with victorious prayers.

The simple message of good, as a vulnerable creature that I am,
The hopeful message of good  
Was like a sword stabbing the main muscle that possession my darkest secrets lay like the gates of hell,
Stabbing the nature of errors that my Flash committed in the great rebellion of disobedience.
Like a white raven in the dark, so odd as it seems, peculiar as it seems the little voice that my inner ears listen to hear, whisper gently as I lend an ear you claim “even the monsters I can make clean, even in the darkest places my voice roars”
As the tenderness stays the sword lays. Truth flows like a river, like the River reaching the dead that lays in me, growth proceeds as this day
I can say in the peculiar times
As White as snow you can wash away
Our wrongful tracks, you can make the monsters as gentle as the night, as this day say, the good message is for bad, the bad can find kindness in The non sinful God.

Music is a weapon
So I'll use it as my sword