Terrors of a Broken Man

I lie here, thin and broken, willing myself to exist

As I question why I came here, as I wonder, as I sigh

By the spirits, by the Weaving, by the hammer in my fist.

But it's you, my darling Tamra, it is you the most I've missed

With your heart so open… tell me – why? Why did she have to die?

The memories fade, and once again, I'm lost to numbing mist.

I recall the final thing you said; I remember last we kissed

And I try, time and again to come back – oh, how I try –

By the spirits, by the Weaving, by the hammer in my fist!

And of all my time here, waiting, of it I've only the gist.

I remember pain, and cringe as I recall my unheard cry –

The memories fade, and once again, I'm lost to numbing mist.

I'm alone – my only friend now is the squee upon my wrist,

And its voice, so soft and silver, sweetly whispers truth and lie –

By the spirits, by the Weaving, by the hammer in my fist…

You must avenge your people, slowly, coldly it had hissed

And then, frightened of the answer, faintly, I had asked him why –

The memories fade, and once again, I'm lost to numbing mist.

But it returns, bringing with it fears too numerous to list.

The rage inside me burns as I cry vengeance to the sky –

By the spirits! By the Weaving! By the hammer in my fist!

… The memories fade, and once again, I'm lost to numbing mist.