With a shattered heart and a broken blade,
With no one around to give aid;
He falls to the ground beaten and alone,
With a heart full of darkness to atone.
His hands are invisibly stained with crimson red,
He wishes nothing but to be sent to eternal rest in bed;
With a soul that is as black as the night,
We wonders why he ever chose to fight.
His mind is full of haunting dreams,
He will never live in peace it seems;
For his past is filled with blood and pain,
With scars, loses, and never any gains.
He now doesn’t know what left for his life,
He has always been in some kind of strife;
He does not know what to look toward,
Now that he holds the handle of a shattered sword.