The shit they say will hurt for sure.
They mean it. Bastards work that way;
No girl's a saint, no human heart is pure,
But those with skill go out their way.
They make their mark and make it last.
Act innocent as you fight back.
Distract themselves with blunted jousts,
Defend attacks, complain of being attacked.
Just fools fight those at war with their own hearts,
Like healing those, who live by staying sick,
By cannon fire, alive but spirits cursed.
Such losing battles strip the soul of grit.
But war means time and readiness for luck.
You stood your ground. And now you've shown those fucks.