I hold you to the word you told, As beneth the the ground on which you stand i lay.
Your word brought my crimson blood As cold as the flame of burning ice to soil these floors.
Ideals as great as the lack of deed behind them. And false understanding of death for love Rather than that of greedy deception carried by the barrel of a gun.
No one will know for what we stand. And we will be forgotten like the puppet master should. Hung by own strings from the stage of owns silent show..