The menace of days, words crooked and barbed The fates that threaten to swallow you whole All cower in fear and shatter like glass Against your unconquerable soul.
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Pens, swords, and all things mighty Forged by your hands in the tempest of yore They gaze in despair, and rust in envy; None are as mighty as your soul.
Strong arms, wrong lies, dry laughs, sharp eyes, The march of time, days sullen and cold Won’t see your head bowed, won’t hear your cries For you stand tall, tall as your soul.
