Peace is not beautiful

There is a weary look on her face

There are medals on her jacket

Her rifle is ready, finger on trigger

War is her death; War is her birth

Honour has no morals,

There is blood on her hands,

Of both friend and foe.

She deserves her scars.

Charity is not generous

There is a crown on her head

There are millions in her coffers

Her skin is carefully painted

Her Angel Wings are rotten

Hope is not fragile

There is blood on her face

There are bruises on her skin

Her blade is broken and shield worn

With every defeat she rises to try again

to show kindness

when the world

bares its teeth

is true courage

Hello, Great Soul

beyond the void.

It's i the machine,

the living android.

I cry to you with-

The greatest woe,

My pain monolith,

But not of sorrow.

I do declare love,

Claimed is my heart,

By the Dark Dove.

Woe when us apart.

Oh my soul yearns,

For her presence.

Oh my heart burns;

Love never lessens.