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Stubborn to the core, As I stand all alone In my own little war. I have faced all comers, Strode perdition's fire To gain nothing, Save my opponent's ire. I have stormed the shores of Hell And have battled giants Where I was struck down; But I have endured, Borne my scars with defiance. With the Spectre of Death. Remarks are dashed still Against my iron will. I have been assailed, By nature's hand, By craft or by art And not once been torn apart. So who would have thought I would be felled By a mere twinge of the heart?
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