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.
