Ten very strong men cannot steal my golden pen.
Five filthy fishermen fiercely fought for it with strive.
Twelve witches burnt the city in search of the safe shelve.
Fifty years from now my heart will still be guilty.
Nine lives of mine I pray would still be fine.
One reason I’m living is to protect the golden one.
Four of my forefathers look up to me from heaven’s door.
Seven days every weak I raise my voice to heaven.
Hundred Angels I need to help me stand against terror and dread.
Two loved ones sacrificed for the cause too.
Three souls enslaved forever; never to be free.
One more war to fight and a victory to be won.
Thousand reasons won’t make me turn my back on this last stand.