Ripped into pieces, shred into oblivion,
for a warrior is nothing but a frightened lad,
unless he walks alone the frightful living.
Dreams will crumble, breathing shall fade,
but, how ironic, survival is still your aim.
Cast away in the howling plains,
bathed in destruction, just for believing.
Believing that the strife for life can be reversed
and the lie that lies before you, will be finally saved.
Whitelighter
