Furnace is dead, cogs have stopped turning.
With all destroyed, my workshop is gone.
Against me my own creations he has been using.
With everyone killed and dead, I have been left alone.

Master of the science of steel,
So strong and with a gifted arm,
With power so great even, still
To evil I could do no harm.

I can't fight it
Can't beat it
Defeat it
Can't shield those
I have loved with such pride
Will the world have respite?

I won't rest 'till I make the greatest blade:
A sword with the power to tear the skies!
The greatest that Man has ever made:
One that will bring tears to the gods' eyes.

I will steal the essence of the Sun!
And with the power of a nova
Will imbue it. When it will be done,
Then the darkness will be over.

I will weld it
And mold it
And hone it
And hold it
Hold it ever so tight
A sword of burning light!

But, still, even with such a lofty sword,
How could I fight the evil that has crept
Into our lives? No, I must find its true lord:
The Hero that the sword will truly accept.

I must not succumb to its call, its lure!
This sword's destiny must not be tainted
By any unworthy hand - to make sure
That from evil the world will be mended.

I won't steal it
Will seal it
Conceal it
And only reveal it
When the time will be right
May the stars be my guides...

After the longest of journeys, following gods' will,
It has finally been revealed, finally been shown:
The visage of the metallic daughter of Steel,
The only that is worthy for this sword to own.

Made by the man who ended all I have loved,
With eyes grim, under slavery of the dark,
With snideness, back to me my sword she had shoved:
"Why shouldn't I melt its greatness for its parts?"

Will you refuse it
And diffuse it
And discard it
Disregard it
Your duty to wield all of its might
To undo the wrong that once was right?

Take courage to your heart, fair soldier!
And listen to me as I will say it thus:
Stand firmly before a mirror and just stare her
In the eyes, as those eyes do scream: "Liberate us!"

Take the word of an inventor and a swordsmith:
Leave the world of comfort where things are nice and fine.
In your heart there'll be a fire forever lit,
If you will only believe: "The power is mine!"

You will fight it
And beat it
Defeat it
Complete the
Conquest of your greatest fright
You will travail through the night!

Resisting arrest by the things I detest.
I've relinquished control of my mind's steady pulse to some of the best
People I know,
Yet, still I must quest to repay all that I owe
To myself.
Not to put on display in a sideshow, but to let go
To the wayside what prevents growth in the daylight.
At night I  float through the bay side as a ghost manifested from an ad-hominem homicide who no longer harbors the lies inside.
Not by choice, but because the transparency of his hyde forces everything off his chest.
That's Hyde with a Y, in case you didn't catch.
A way to separate the enemy from whom I can trust will continue to ride on straight with his eyes on the prize,
Because even though most of the time while I'm speeding on by I can realize when I'm fooling myself,
Sometimes it still helps to have another set of eyes I can confide in when I fall to my pride, and welp, honestly, I'm really good at lying.
All snideness aside,
I constantly subside the urge to spin so many stories like I used to.
I abide to unifying the narrative and the truth.

  The book is written by my steps, traced in ink.
It revolves around the fearlessness experienced amidst the dereliction of my inhibitions.
Inhabiting this world is sooo much stranger than fiction.
I was served red herring on a silver platter so often that I could no longer ******* own predictions on the matter.
The predication of my subject crashed to the floor and shattered with a clatter,
All the while the next course was being served over the chatter.
The false leads left me feeling salty;
Depleting my energy, sinking into a state of emergency with a deficiency of Vitamin C.
Scurvy, you see?
A line graph charting mental health as curvy as the sea.

  Digressing from this literary diversion I will return to the exploitation of the exposition of this version of the story with positively depressing times formed in the retrospection of faded moments of glory,
During which I was jaded by the very idea of my lovers' life stories.
I tried to write and I tried to paint,
But the page and the canvas weren't blank so I was left with a jumbled mess of mistakes that acted as constraints to my best traits.
The epiphany that would have solved the last case always showing up a minute too late.

I've learned to live in the present tense and take each clue as it comes
and sharpen my sense of intuition instead of letting my paranoia blossom into fruition every time my expectation doesn't fall in line.
I'm here now within the sublime.
I'll Be Here Now Ram Daas, all of the time.
Life is strange, and that's no crime.
I'm strange too, and that's just fine.

I've come to the state of I don't care,
Burrowing my head in the sand till this point.
It bleeds and begs me to move on from this place,
It doesn't care to ask anymore.
I have let myself become stuck in this misery,
The empty shell equaling instant mystery.
The place of the mind kept for weeping all in my own,
There is more to one's sheer snideness left alone.
But fear reaches beyond it's said stage,
Again and again it tells me to stay.
I must fight back,
Even though I've grown tired and sleepy.
Where I am young,
I feel old.
This place close to prison,
Must no longer keep me.