I went to war once. Or was meant to. Long time back.
On the eve of battle I looked into the fire and I saw my death, sure as Sunday.
I saw. I knew I would die that day if I stayed.
Put on my boots, and dropped my sword, and I flew. I owe a battle.
You’re following Wednesday so that you can fight in his war and die, and for that, you run his errands?
I done worse than that.
:: A Prayer for Mad Sweeney ::