This crimson curse, a silent thief,
Steals vitality, saps life’s belief.
None of these is my will.
Should I curse my creators? Should I still the peace?
Called not to silence,
A fiery serpent coiling around my veins,
Flooded with aches and malaise,
All day, everyday, no break.
A burst of energy I think I feel?
Could this be the end of my ill?
A beat, my heart skipped, filled with excitement and gleam,
The future looks so dim,
Am I freed from this cursed feel?
Can I dare to dream? Can I dare to live?
Once saw a man ravaged by this same disease.
His frame frail, his body shaked
What a fearful sight, for goodness sake.
Humans weep, a mournful sound.
Driven by the sudden loss, wild and unbound,
I tried, tried to look away
A tragic scene, to this day a haunting dream
A tender touch, a gentle care
A hope, a prayer, a fervent prayer,
For healing hands, a magic cure,
To soothe the pain, forevermore.
This fragile hope, these flickering lights,
A battle fought, day after night.
With a warrior’s spirit, strong and true.
Defying all odds, a victory anew.
Crimson chain. There’s a saddening telling of grief of death, f ear and pain and a new birth of hope at the end. This is the denouncement every characters on earth yield for.