When I was young, barely five, when I was just a child
My father told me bedtime stories about the world outside
He spoke of many rulers
And heroes of our kin
He spoke of how today they were
Always blamed in sin
He told me tales 'bout traitors
Who gave up on our kind
And said that they were guilty
Of leaving us behind
He said our race is pushed around by men with filthy blood
But our name would never fail and mingle into mud
These fairy-tales of horror made my thoughts grow dark
These traitors had on our pure breed left a dirty mark
I learned to hate
A mudblood's face
But there was a plan, he said
And those who shared it with him
And so it grew within my head;
I knew that I'd go with him
He told me hope was almost gone
That left was very little light
But one day We would rule the world
And then he kissed me good night
Now here I am, I'm all grown up
Wearing robes of black
My arm is marked, my mind is set
On taking powers back
At fourteen years I learned the spells
Conjuring pain and such
At fifteen years I killed my first
And enjoyed it all too much
At sixteen years they marked my arm
Such sacred, painful bliss
At seventeen I realise
There's no way out of this
But oh how bittersweet
The yearning and the longing
Of serving someone greater;
The feeling of belonging
The voices of my father
Carved into my soul
The won't let go
They won't let go