Literature
Heroics
Theres a sword hanging on my hip,
A song dying in my ear,
But I continue on with what I have to do,
Sing what they want to hear.
At the end of the day,
When my sword is dripping with enemy blood,
I know that what Ive done
Was only done out of love.
The way they chant my name,
And parade down the dirty streets,
Shaking hands of people you would
Never otherwise get to meet.
The sword does its job by my hand,
And I do my job by the sword,
Heroics are my life,
And this is what I live for.