The opening page

[applesnguitars]

When I was young and soft
I begged to be shaped by you
But your hands never came

Some make it out alive,
never needing to be nurtured
They grow up sick and tall
Painting their faces with murder

Tell me the story that
never will come true,
a painful dream that lingers
on nostalgic
beauty of the brave and
ancient world,
the elongated axe of which
we are
to witness.