The hero knows that he will fail.
But he sprints, leaps, and flies into the maw of hell.

He fights the darkness, blade aglow,
But the demons advance, in a hellish flow.

And the sword he drops, darkness claims.
And reforged the blade, in white hot flames.

A sythe of darkness, souls areap
Sending angels to die, rest in eternal sleep.

As a color for death, the blade alight.
A soulless contrast, a bloody white.

And the hero we spoke of, long since dead.
His tears on the wall. The wall stained red.

And the angels of light, to reclaim their hero,
Into the maw of hell, Their blades aglow.

They reclaim the blade, darkness and light,
And the body of the hero again will fight.

The angels gathered, dark magiks aglow,
And revived a single man, their noble hero.

They gave him his blade, reforged in darkness,
And the hero cried, mind far from solace.

A hero now a monster, legends tell the tale,
But mind cannot remember, and the stongest ink fail.

Light forged in darkness, a beautiful thing.
And darkness forged in light, worthy of a king.

We create that which destroys us,
And feed it, and forge it,

Paper men lighting matches, destroying themselves,
And forgetting the water, low on the shelves.

Men in the darkness, tears flow from their eyes.
And men that are broken, leap into the skies.