This is a war between the faith and all these facts. Repeating history, until you say: "OH SHIT NOW THE MAN'S OVERBOARD WHO USED TO TELL ME WHERE THE FUCK TO GO." hell yeah I'm gonna live my own life, set my own sail and die my own fucking way. This river should have stayed in the dark. This river buries friends, fates and arcs. This river will always tear apart. This river knows: water is blood. Feathers on the battleground. Swords and arrows rising. Face to face I swear to desacralise this soil
Auras brightening the night. Bound to death or well alive. Blindfolded by their legacies. Where's my ship? Where's my wife, my pride, my life?
River of crises. From black to gold. The silhouette's glaring. Ignited by hate, by our hate. This is the same fight they fought for thousands of years. No one ever won. Just dead bodies. Corpses for concepts. Cries for the scripts. This is the same fight they fought for thousands of years. This is the part of the story, where the protagonist falls. To become something bigger. Because the subject is born
Get well soon!