This warrior metality.
Is apparently.
Bad for me.
While I franticly.
Heat up like the Arctic sea.
Then I'll be.
Fighting with clarrity.
But don't expect charity.
I'll be spittin' blaspheme.
And ask for three.
Seconds, to break free.
I reckon.
I'm a land mine you're stepin'
On,
And I won't be gone.
Till I'm done.
I don't do this just for fun.
So you'd better run.
Because until the day.
That I'm old and grey.
I'll be okay.
Fightin whatever comes my way.
Until I run out of luck.
And I'm finally stuck.
Struck.
Down.
I'll keep goin till I bleed out.
-H
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