When I look into your blood-thirsty eyes,
I can see that you are lonely.
You swing your blade with pride,
but still I see that all you want is to go back home.
To go back to your wife and children.
To tell them about your bravery
– a happy story at bedtime.
To kiss them goodnight and look at them sleeping peacefully
forgetting that fearful dream of your bloody death
that used to haunt them while you were gone.
You see, I have the same feeling.
But as you might see your family again,
mine will live on without me.
My wounds are fatal.
The funny thing is,
the blood from my wounds
is the blood that drips from your blade.