Did I ever tell you, how it made me feel?

Each and every time you made a ruthless kill?

Shoot down the ringleaders, make it to the crowd.

Did I ever tell you how much Mother expected?

From a King, from a Ruler, from a Son?

But of course it's not you make me feel.

You've done a great deathly deal.

Only to protect us from the darkness.

Too see my own brother twist into his own darkness- and insanity.

Your crimes are too tyrant

for a man who was once vibrant.

A single expedition can twist my own faith and yours.

One bullet, two, three, four

the sickening sound of a body hitting the cement floor

five, six, seven...

eight.

You've grown into something that I hate.

You've died as something I cannot hate.

Because I love you no matter what.

But once a grave, you've lost your touch.