The Shell of a Man

Sleep haunts like a ghost under nighttime's eye;

Each dream has returned to remind me

of the wars that I've fought and the souls that I've killed

without thought or remorse for their ends.

And here you see the shell of a man

who ended the lives of hundreds;

I'm no hero of war nor savior of faith

and I'm damned by revenge of the fates.

But I'll guide lost hands and not sulk in my hate;

there's still good left to do in the world.

For the mother and father whose sons I have killed,

I'll right the wrong deeds I have done.

The cries of young children still ring in my ears

like the wail of a ghostly banshee.

Fear strikes in my heart and I shut my eyes

to stay afloat in the orphans' tears.

No god could absolve me of my crimes against life

and no distance or shadows could hide me.

I will face my end as my soul is seized

like the cities of the lands I destroyed.

Can I die a past killer but a newly-forged man?

Or shall I always have blood on my hands?

I'll let fate decide and keep in my mind

the hearts and the deeds of the pure.