Run With The Hunted Line Of Dissent
I am the son of a bitter man
Grasping at hope with a broken hand
I am the end of the family line
Defiant and mortal, I will carry this blood
With me into the shadows of time
To the ends of the earth
Over the edge of the known
Oblivion never felt as good
As living alone
Despoiled despot of a forgotten throne
Destined to die, waiting to try
I am not
An empty vessel. Stock to breed
The prodigal son of an everlasting plant to seed
I can not
I will not
I am not
Immortal
