Here in this house of endless bloodshed There is no air. We never sleep. They smell our skin a mile away. Shaken, I am the ashes in the ossuary. Careworn and lame, This threadbare brain Sends only signals of decay. If I can fall to sleep, Don't dare disturb my rest. Because it's been so long since it was safe - So I wait here, feeding on fear, With knuckles white and dripping red. Shaken, I face defeat at my own hand today. Before the end comes from outside, I draw it from within. The fog of war: