This is the voice,
this is the voice of the people.
This is the soul,
this is the will of the masses.

It's a strange thing to die in the shadows.
It's even stranger to live in the light.
Will I dream when it is all over?
Will I speak when not a word can be said?
Will I smile when naught can please me?
Will my eyes be empty,
the life within me drained from my bones?

I held onto my pride, and paid for it.
I held onto my dreams, and fought for them.
I held onto my bonds, and bled for them.
I held onto my heart, and you held it with me.

Each breath I take,
is a testament to my being.
And the sacrament of my life,
written in blood and courage.
For this epitaph I write,
burn well into your minds,
and my words forever,
reach up to the heavens.

It's a strange thing to die in the darkness,
but the voice within me, will never cease.


Penned by my hand on the 15th of Valnuary, in the year 576 AF.