Left

There are dimensions of life I care not to comprehend Things of pain, angst, lonliness and Their tyrannical blend. Yet they march upon my reason And with my happiness, contend. Wantonly I'm shattered And Must be left to mend. Yet I will raise my trampeled head in a bold, bloodlust trance, I will not run, but fight instead And Lift my sword and mighty lance. I'll cut the head off of the snake And watch it writhe its deadly dance. I'll put my boot to its back And assume a brilliant stance! But SHE... leads their woeful Army A terrible foe indeed, SHE flings their deadly arrows Things that pierce, sting and blead. I Hardly make it to the lines I am struck from my stead grotesquley I am trampled Into an ambrosia mead Thus the war will be won And my life, my love will be undone For noone may defeat these things they may only fight or run