We crossed a line,
and although fine,
it was defined,
and the chill felt deep in my spine.
That time has come and is gone,
the threads entwined are woven long,
hear the chimes of the gong,
and the lies in our song.
That fine line was crossed
at the highest of costs,
opportunities tossed,
The battle is lost.
I find myself,
on the edge of a shelf,
predestined to see how it melts.
None will live to remember how it felt.
We place an apple on our head,
string the bow with the thread,
We battle, screaming "eat lead!"
Shoot the arrow, we'll all be dead.
