• The blood stained moon
    On my cold dead hands
    My sword in the ground
    And my knees in the sand
    My soul lost, never found

    Pierced through the heart
    But not by arrow or spear
    By love and peace
    Her face I wish near
    But truth makes a crease

    I fought for her
    Till her heart ceased
    Not disease or petulance
    But my own hate
    She died for my sake