That in Coldness Served

In the silence of the twilight hour
The smokescreen, from days before
Leaves behind the evidence of its struggle, visible to all who know the truth
The crimson rain falls, a tributary from a mortal river
On my hands, not my own

The shadow rises, the light recedes
Darkness grips with iron claws, caresses with silken hands

Desolation, destruction, death, twisted in the heart of the deep
The growing stain invades the core; succumbs the strength to its power
Nothing more to prove, nothing left to lose

The rage, remnant of times past,
Revenge ridden, purpose driven

Finds the subject of this long search, and Justice comes by unjust hands
And the sentence, in cold carried out, takes life from the one who wronged
No vestige remains now,
The old replaced by a new and dark shadow

Life's serum stains the heart,
The goal long sought, attained at last
To thine, I add lead, my measure of surety

And when they come, as cuts in the dark
Stand aside, or raise your gun, let's have it done
No, you can't decide, here,
Pull the trigger, spill it all, let it fall!
The crimson, a current on its course
Leaves its mark upon the end
And this time, the truth on my hands is my own