[?7h
Th
e House of the H
oly
He's an old
 proud hero,
A saldier of an
cient war,A
 man whose life is g
lory,He
'd been hailed as a 
hero too oft to count,
He bore up proudly, 
even as his will and mind were fad
ing,Th
e weight of his evil
 actions ground down apon h
im,Thi
s was more insidious punish
ment than any other,
In his mind he felt 
the anguish of his tormented s
oul.He 
had slain mothers and their c
hildren,St
ruck down the sick a
nd lame,Bu
rned the dirty huts 
of old men,
Set flame to the fei
lds and left them,
And there t
hey lay dying in the noontime 
sun,Pl
eading and begging f
or help,Bu
t their cries feel a
pon a cold heart,
For all he 
could think of was the next vill
age.
In the eyes of his countrym
an he was a hero,
A man of goodness 
to be admired,
But in his heart h
e knew what he had done was e
vil,
That in the name o
f war he slew innocen
ts,
And now as he lay 
apon his deathbed he seeks salva
tion,
A redeption of his s
oul,
So that when blackness over
comes him,
He may reside in the House 
of the Holy.



Terminal Veloc
ity <Em
erge.SHaRP.Angst>