Work Text:
A Mercenary works for pay
Money changes hands
A killing wound the price
Path a maze
Anything to earn the pay
A bloody tide.
Reflections on oneself
Seeing himself in another
Horror, disgust, and shame
A target to kill,
How wrong it feels
The blade an inch from blood
A good deed taken wrong
Cuffs and chains so long
Blamed for what used to be
And the person who survived
Watches, tears in eyes
As the rope fits the Mercenary tight