Reaching hands- circling down I see it twist to nothing. Torn from
what it meant, cut from existence... My fingers bleed, but reaching
hands are not weak. The light that once burned so bright, has now
been cast a dismal grey. Fighting to keep the voice alive, I cannot
let it end this way... I'm held- in the arms of the few! I walk in
line with the sacred, never breaking my vow. I swear to you. A rise
of commitment strong, a vision to which it belongs. Purity of the
mind and body, to keep the resistance moving on...