Who am I?
I lost myself long ago.
Would it be wrong to call myself a martyr?
Headed to a place I don't know, with men as cold as snow.
I never asked for this, but my wishes don't matter.
I need a sign, just a single sign to drag me out of the shadows.
Never a believer, but for this I'll pray.
Grant me strength, for my life can't end this way.
I don't want to stay.
I don't want to stay.
I don't want to stay.
I am no martyr.
Martyrs are far too noble.
I, on the other hand, dream of a bloody murder.
I can't live this way, with a revolting arm atop my waist.
Who I am matters no longer, for all I need is to become stronger.
But how will I save myself?
Perhaps with that glowing light coming from the shelf?