Rebellions are always
The most bloody affairs
Sacrificial slaughter
To an abstract cause
His strength must remain
His magic run bountiful
Washing over the wounds
Of the devoted rebels
Fighting with farmer's tools
And torches
Against iron, steel,
And flaming artillery
It is one battle lost
After another
The ground gained, lost
Until there is none to stand upon
He stands in a mixed puddle
Of ally's and enemy's blood
No longer can he play the role of healer
Now he must be the fighter
His story continues...
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