A crown of thorns for a king of scorns,
In a world that mocks every oath you’ve sworn!
They want the shield, but they demand you bleed,
Feeding their greed on your noble deed!
Let the rage ignite! Let the fury swell!
They dragged your heaven right down to hell!
They rot in the spite of a deadened age,
And turn your righteousness into rage!
You gave them warmth—they demanded fire!
They turned your honor into their pyre!
You held out a hand, they spat in your palm,
Destroying the holy, desecrating the calm!
So let the venom seethe! Let the iron boil!
Let the anger bleed into the bitter soil!
No one hears the call! No one looks your way!
They cast your valor like trash away!
HATE for the blind! HATE for the cold!
For every kindness bought and sold!
...And yet...
The tempest roars, but the armor breaks.
The noise retreats from the endless aches.
The burning fire consumes its fuel,
Leaving ashes behind in a world so cruel.
The screaming dies to a silent sigh.
The sword grows heavy beneath the sky.
No battle left. No point to fight.
The hatred drains into the night.
The cold grip loosens. The fists unbend.
The fury yields to the quiet end.
No lingering spite, no bitter breath,
Just the deep, sweet peace that follows death.
The long watch ends. The shield falls deep.
At last... the knight can sleep.