A hero went out.
To face them all alone.
Armed with a sword and his loves blessing.
He faced them head on and unafraid.
Though there where many he fought brave.
But he was only man and soon fell.
To the sword fueled by blind hate.
And guided by the rage and huger for flesh.
He stumbled and fell.
Dieing to defend what he loved.
In the end she laid a white rose.
That was soon stained crimson red.
An this is the way a red rose was made.
