Time and again, I move away,
From this deceived truth, once a year,
Stolen from my side, without my say,
I glimpse, and nothing will be there.
What shall I say, to withstand the tear?
My fear, my heart, they both pulsate.
Bate to reign as a secluded seer,
I ceded to the fields of melee.
What shall I say, to scour the splat?
Preposterous, I have become;
Irrational: I am a brat.
I shall descend into the daunted dirge.
For those I slain, I shall atone,
Grendel craves not convert to Cain alone.