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If the first light left me seen, then by the first strike Iâve been struck. God help me. Iâd stumbled upon the crowd, at first, in jest. But I remained, if only out cold.
I once told you my scars burn like hot iron. Iâve endured the dayâs tolls, and held my back to ills. But if Iâm to bear this load, then let me craft of it the hand that grips my throat.
If I put in all my fears, then at least whatâs stored is kept, albeit locked in this room.
Grab hold, and you wonât let it go. I might choke out a phrase thatâs honed with bile. Safe journey on you. Youâll run in a maze cut from my lines. A strong word rings out like a shot. I knew its aim would hit the mark.
This golem Iâve made wants me dead. Itâs been programmed blow for blow. Surpriseâyou bought it. Hell, I did.
I need one shape. I need one place for aim: one rock and chisel, hewn into place, and resting atop the thinnest strawman stand.
It seems weâre going anywhere but where I win, or anywhere at all.
Grab hold, and I wonât let it go. Iâve called out a name thatâs robed in time. Safe journey on you. Youâll run in a maze thatâs all mine. Safe journey onward. Iâll call on the walls down around us both.
A hidden ghost forms, and cleaves right through me; drawn as familiar, drawn to my call.