As he treads upon the stairs,
and crushes weeds beneath his step,
he thinks upon a time gone by,
and how he crushed out all those lives.

He clutches to the iron rail,
and journeys back, down times trail.
He recalls the weapons that he's held,
from steel broadsword to iron flail.

As thorny nettles scratch his hand,
and blood drips down to hit the sand,
he's reminded of the blood he's spilt.
The world was just his battlefield.

In grief he sits upon the wall
which nearly crumbles beneath his form,
just like the castle walls torn down,
when the four horsemen raided towns.

With weary eyes he looks around,
as sunlight heralds another dawn.
A new day has come, the past is gone.
A new man now rises to carry on.