Blackened are his boots, rusted his blade,
Trudging away, through the barren wastes, destroyed is his home.
With blood on his clothes and grit on his teeth,
He battles his way alone.
No army against him, they all shall soon fall,
Feeling the bite of his sword to their bone,
Taking his vengeance, leaving the waste,
By him the wicked shall atone.
Paying for sin, the spilling of blood,
No one is safe as long as he roams.
The battles are fierce, the nights are long, upon all Rome shall his revenge be wrought.
Till his family avenged, and the evil is gone, across the plains of madness shall he walk.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment