Here I am, born again!
My name is William,
my father's son,
and father's son's reality is strange.
At six years old,
I told the people I had the same God.
My mother had been crushed to life by the horrid jokes of the world.
Last I killed, I was two,
that was with the swords.
As I stared at the tree,
sadness and shame to me was brought.
The dawn of the latest age,
the sword took the turn.
Six and now,
I shake my dash,
taking serious,
man I got.
Sire's pain,
the thought gets ideal.
Sire's pain,
the thought gets ideal.
It does so,
they did not know,
that when he comes,
it's a bow and that's a lay.
It happened to me,
the end I was, of an exile.
All I see is his face.
Sire's pain,
the thought gets ideal.
Sire's pain,
the thought gets ideal.
It does so,
they did not know,
that when he comes,
it's a bow and that's a lay.
It happened to me, the end I was, of an exile.
All I see.
Six and now,
I switch into bow,
being as hostile.
The thought behind,
it's just a grinning,
I'm hiding away wild.
Here I am, a soldierly, a man of total truth.
Dependent with a very tough cause,
I'm least
unwell and I'm as hoarse as my jaw.
Sire's pain,
the thought gets ideal.
Sire's pain,
the thought gets ideal.
you