My final speech
- 09 Jun 2018
There is crimson blood dripping from my worn hand,
It glides in wind created by the giant stomps across the land.
I rest my becoming corpse a pond the trench,
With the giants’ roar worse than a wrench.
I must not give up hope,
I shall not croak.
I’m the last,
I will outlast.
The demonic giant will fall by my elder blade,
I will attain glory and fame.
Through today I will bring out my final fight,
With my browning teeth are held together tight.
I rise from my cold place of rest,
The giant see me now with distress.
For no mortal man has such a will of steel,
Will this beast of death end up under my heel?
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