Am I really such a burden,
As tears are shed,
And crimson blood flows through my village,
I wonder that...

At times when the grass is green,
And the sweet aroma of flowers is in the air,
I feel safety in my grasp.

But.
When that grass is brown with bitterness,
And that wonderful scent,
Has turned into a horrid, bloody smell,
I feel it.

When friends betray friends,
And when death is in the air,
I feel this thing inside of me,
Wanting to come out of its shell,
Wanting to kill.

I feel it often.
Can I keep my strength?
Can I overpower this dreaded fear?
Or will it overpower me?

I weep for no one.
I walk alone.
What has happened to me?
Where am I?
Why is the sight of blood soothingly peaceful?

What have I become?