A dead God.
He chose to rise,
to seek peace
for the unavenged.
His armour of lead; stained with blood,
he reeked of the Earth,
yet shone of the light
whence he had come.

Heavy boots of lead,
that struck fear
in the darkest of hearts.
His smile in place,
Mjolnir in hand,
No one escaped him.
Trusted arm of Thor,
commander of pristine power
Mjolnir brought forth victory.

Spread out through time,
Lost in space,
Forever being.
He bled the
the impotent blood of minions
To avenge every woeful tear,
Of those destroyed
By the black fires.

Between claps of thunder he rose.
His birth,
Flagging a dawn.
The dawn of the angry.
A dawn of the mad.

Amidst red seas in our vessels
he courses,
we make an effort to tame his existence.
But why deny?
why blemish?
Why?

The colour red.
I paint my existence with it,
riding into battle forever.

"Conform", their war cry.
Fling mud in the eyes of thine enemies.
Live without their fear.

I beseech thee on his part,
Dead Gods, in us.
Warriors of stature no less,
Their souls shalt not be denied.
Free thine anger,
Commence thy freedom