The old me would be horrified
I have become weak, lost all my edges
To the comforts of life
I am death no longer, nor a messenger of darkness
The weapons I wield now are not bloodstained swords
I am no warmonger, nor a bringer of destruction
The weapons at my disposal have turned into words
The new me is satisfied
I have become weak, accepting pledges
From the consorts of life
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