My face is painted, painted for you. Leather polished; tarnish rubbed away, dirt brushed from my tunic. I wait; wait for you and your leagues. I fear not, death does not render my flesh soft trembling, weak from fear. I embrace death, the challenge to this flesh. I’ve killed. Death is with me, a dear friend. We will dance, dance, the dance of death. This is my being, join me, I long for your embrace. I wish you luck.
From the Ramblings.