What blade do you wield,
That would not bend at my flesh
What strength well concealed
That would not perish in my presence
What words do you harvest
That I haven't, at least once, sentenced
What fire could you withstand
That would somehow scar my skin
What gun do you brandish
That I haven't already unloaded
What weapon should I fear
Might end the life I've lived
If thirty years of war has passed
And my will is undiminished.
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