Metallic in taste;
Slick to touch.
Liquid to paste;
Paste to dust.
I stand among this red, so bright,
And cowards who run so far from my might.
Still I see them, white in color,
And paint them red, just like the others.
From empty eyes, they see me screech
To smite the ones my hands can't reach.
My voice soar high across the fields,
But, in the grasses, nothing yields.
I'm now alone in this world, so cold,
With nothing left to call my own,
Not even death, his arms so sweet.
Death is the fate I'll never meet.
