It was the excitement: if I’d thought, I’d not have moved. I guess killing’s like that: it’s an end, not a tool.
Hands of a healer, after centuries of care You can’t betray me so, you cannot dare! Treat a life like a lamp flame and so cruelly put it out In a moment. But in a moment, your Healer’s oath’s in doubt.
Hands that have worked so, do you not Death abhor? You’re trained to lessen Death, not to deal more! It’s not one life that matters, it’s the heritage betrayed For a moment, But in that moment, a life lost to my blade.
Oh hands without callus, you have not known Death like this. You’ve led men back from Death, but you’ve never dealt its kiss! But for once the pain is lovely as the foe slumps to the ground. And for a moment, shining moment, you forget to what you’re bound.
Hands of a healer, can you heal this wrong you’ve done? Ah, yes, you’ve scored a kill! And the battle’s just begun! And they’ll all be proud come morning of the killing by these hands. Of the moment, the damned moment, that no other understands.
Of the hated, horrid moment That sprayed blood on healer’s Hands.