... - Avenger | Текст песни

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• Avenger

A man walks,
dust covers his cloak.
Beneath his dark brow,
eyes of ice scan the crowd.

A sword graces his belt.
His hand caresses it's hilt.
A question burns in his gaze:
where are those he seeks?

The hands drenched in blood and gold,
the conductors of his misery.
Their webs are here to be found.
He tastes it, revenge calls to him.

He stops in the square.
Two vultures circle around.
Swords hiss,
a smile touches his lips.

He stands drenched in blood,
laughter leaves his mouth.

He kneels to the dying man,
ecstatic, demand the masters den.

With a loping, lupine stride,
he cuts through the city streets.
An arrow, a hound after blood,
he closes in on his mark.

A guardsman sneers at the gate.
He raises his blade too late.
A predator moves through the courtyard,
around him cries of alarm.

Six killers emerge to face him,
he greets them with a canine grin.
The wolf licks at his wounds.
He refuses to let them slow him.

Armour, hidden 'neath cloth,
has spared him of the worst.
He advances, stalks through the halls,
a demon, mad for revenge.

On the suite he closes in.
The portal is locked.

He beats at the door,
the patriarch cowers inside.
Lacquered, gilded,
the door was not made for war.

He enters, at last inside.
What devil lurks behind that smile?
He departs thereafter soon,
wiping blood from his blade.

He vanishes into the streets,
in a garden he sits to rest.
For years he bore such pain.
Will it abate? Time will tell.

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