Though my soul may fear the darkness, fear the time with no light;
my eyes love the sight of stars too much to fear the night.
The undead rise, they want to make me pay,
and I have to - I cannot disobey.

They don't know I've paid already -
in the time of my biggest need.
When Master's sword wasn't ready,
I had to do my good deed.

For that I paid, for that I bled,
from the white came cherry red.
I did not know that snow can bleed,
I never thought that's my deed.

A face of friend, it was all a lie,
he was my Master and I his spy.
His servant, his good slave,
free to use, when he wasn't brave.

And when fear poisoned his heart,
I was the one to face the darkness.
That's what I was for - that was my part;
to face their swords' sharpness.

For that I paid, for that I bled,
from the white came cherry red.
I did not know that snow can bleed,
I never thought that's my deed.

Tonight I face the darkness again,
alone like the moon in the sky.
I am not prepared for more pain,
but I can't run - I am Master's spy.

The question is; was my Master ever brave?
Did he do anything else than use his slave?
For that I paid, for that I bled, from the white came cherry red,
I did not know that snow can bleed, I never thought that's my deed.










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