Blood paints the land,
And there is still more to be shed,
Yet we only kill when we must,
But there is still more to die,
For we are the eternal slayers,
We are those who must kill and will do so again and again,
Until our souls are stained red,
We do it for others not ourselves,
But to keep the kind and gentle alive,
Still, they fall by enemy hands despite all we do,
They still die no matter how many lives we take,
How many murders will protect them?
Will it ever be enough?