WESTERN SON

I o f I VBlood washes these eyes with violence and pain because people like me will never forget the torments of youth we must live through them again and again and I see the road stretched out before my feetHow many times must I travel this path before I finally discover where I am going?how many times will I fire this weaponry before I am finally free of the demons that torment me?In the Lost Cities, abandoned by time,I get down on my knees and pray to the Gods for mercy they only laugh and say my name:Orakle, Orakle, Orakle