Sad little Ian poem anyone care to review what I don't own?
Rain kisses my head, soft and sweet,
Mingling with my blood soaked curls.
Blood of our enemies I'm bathed in
For they tried to harm my lady tonight.
Fair Sara will not know fear tonight
At least not from any foolish mortal.
Rain drips crimson on the rooftop tonight
For I stand in the middle of the rain
With the blood washing away
But my own blood stays untouched
By this accursed cool rain.
Wounds stay festered and don't heal
When they can't be cleansed and treated
Like my wounded and bleeding heart.
Gashed and still bleeding over Sara
It hasn't healed and it never will.
The first cut is the deepest
And it will never heal properly.
Soaked in my own pained blood
I stand up here in a puddle of enemy blood
Watching my Sara from a distance
As she sleeps peacefully in her bed.
I prayed to the Witchblade for peace
And for her alone it granted my wish.