In Wich TimeCeases to Flow

There's a state of mind where

the dust in the air

and the grinding of steel is heaven

the blood adds to the colors

wich blur in your eyes

the breeze licks at your wounds

flashing pain in your mind

as you dance in attempt

to prolong the next attack that hits

fending off their glares of anger

with a cocky smirk

and the batle ends when

they leave their side open

because time ceased to flow.