In fight there reveals a power... blood... sickly dies... withering away falls off... with sword in hand
Power is a principle... it goes on... weakness is a sign... OF DECAY
Suddenly I fly above that stream,
Somebody's holding my hand & my heart,
With shame I throw away my sword,
TEARS FLOW FROM MY HEART...
With pain I return... back to stream... bu I don't know WHY
Perhaps to tell about the place beyond the stream,
Perhaps to know how to take by the hand & heart as I was taken,
Perhaps to cleanse and elate the power reigning in the stream...
