these days we march

the uncalled epiphany of the restless and the numb
displays its rejoice in such rabid moments.
a remembrance of how volatile the air we breathe in.
the portrait in our memories of life, the way we want.

it is useless my friend, to arm yourself in brink of peace.
but nevertheless the tragedy keeps repeating.
i used to walk my twenty minutes in a field of gold
but these days we march to the morgue faster than we walk.

i know the world is a dirty place, filled with love and happiness for the rich.
but in times like these, we keep calling out for the beauty in our existence.
you could have had that life you wanted, if not for the things you see.
you could have lived like the general's wife and be who you could have been.

i am asleep when the words were revealed.
the birch tree branches were the only witnesses.
these songs are the only truth that we could have.
my singers are beings from the skies we call home.

- terra the legionnaire

twenty swords

spin the holster and see my shine as part i am
of the twenty swordsmen

lick my blade oh unfortunate tongue as who you were
my prey

fearsome eyes and masks of steel
still i slash through you, i am the seventh sword

my sins were never there im just a tool,
of only time may tell of death

i am just a tool of reckless men
who cut open your hearts and call it deed

my hilt be hold by thousand murderers
and yet i am a saint

my edge has tasted so many necks and so be
my creation

my heart remains as pure though I have slain a million

- andulian of aragorn's torso