The eternal fire rises higher,
burning away the thoughts of the once noble dragon.
Tangled misconception of purpose feeds the hatred in his heart.
It slowly eats away the framework of his soul.
The betrayment of life leads him to a throne of insanity.
He cannot see and he does not know.
The dragonís fiery breath consumes him, destroys him.
He has died before, and he will die again.
There is no mercy for this wretch.
Death does not mean to a dragon what it means to a man.
A man turns to ash, a dragonís ashes are the seeds of his rebirth.
He travels a never ending road,
searching for the answers to this sordid enigma.
He would welcome death as a dying soldier welcomes the peaceful blackness of nonexistence.
But there is no peace for this cursed wretch.
He is doomed to carry the cross of immortality.
He cries loud for a crown of thorns.
His blood is cold and he does not care.
There is a darkness about him now.
Withdrawn and peaceful he may seem,
but in his mind he is the king of death,
riding the wings of dreams.