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Broken Wrist, Bloody Palms
I've seen you once before
Rising above the skies
Your blood has touched my lips
Are you wounded, my friend?
I didn't catch your name
What is your purpose here?
Your jacket is so torn
It must be him again
Know him as the reaper
And forget his real name
Some may call him their god
And worship him in vain
Many flee his presence
And others flaunt his words
But know this, my stranger
You are bound to get hurt
His intentions are clear
And his fingers are stained
Tar has encased his mind
He has layed his own grave
Some call him officer
Others call him the priest
Many call him demon
And few call him deceased
I guess he's waiting for me
You will stay and rest here
I will be back shortly
Please, my friend, have no fear.
END
