Through the night,
Through the mist,
A wanderer still continues to fight,
In search of a destiny that awaits.
The sun burns the land,
The rain washes away the sin,
Blood endlessly spill onto his hand,
A hundred bows of war flying across the wind.
A journey to the east,
Might come to an end,
Giving all his best,
Knowing nothing what to believe in.
Pointing to the east he beckons,
Thou shalth not be vain,
Thee heart will not be stolen,
By one who causes pain.
In the midst of confusion,
The air suddenly felt cold,
It felt neither truth nor illusion,
Ahead shines a light of gold.
He unsheathe his sword,
Ready his stance,
Ghouls and ghost flies in horde,
Along came out death in a glance.
The wanderer stares and grins,
For he know it’s time to face Death,
This is how things should end and begin,
This could be his last breath.
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