My blood runs onto the floor and I stare.
The knife slips out of my wound. I don't care.
My eyes close out of dead fear for a glare.
And a cold hand grabs hold of my neck.
I don't struggle as I lose my voice
I begin to wonder at my choice:
At death should I cry or rejoice?
But this iron grip keeps my life in check.

I have no will left to try and resist,
But will enough to know this can't persist.
For to lose my soul to the darkest coal...
Which road sign must I have missed?

Not knowing is my only fuel
This just can't go on any longer!
I want my answers and want them now...
But to have a chance, I must get stronger!

How can one decrepit for so long,
Ever have a hope at getting strong?
How can a soul as dead as mine,
Ever recall that bent road sign?

The agony inside: This pain I feel.
It's oh so very strong and just too real.
If I can take that pain and use its force,
I might just have a chance to pass this course.

The ripping and tearing and stabbing and breaking,
The screams out of terror I find myself making.
If I let it take over and consume my soul.
Will I finally know? Will I reach my goal?

I know that demon, he was always there,
I knew that if I let him he would win me gold.
He could turn pain into power and blood into air.
So to this demon, gladly, myself I sold.