Avenging Angel

Avenging Angel

Avenging angel burning bright,
Standing in the moon-lit night,
What path doth thou seek?
The one of the brave, or the meek?

On the winding road of fate,
Waiting through the Winters, late,
Guarding the dagger of stone,
That is set on a handle made of bone,

With marks of power on her skin,
Every battle she shall win,
Patient for her day of glory,
A battle that quickly turns gory,

Avenging angel burning bright,
Standing in the dawn-colored light,
What path did thou seek?
The one of the brave, or the meek?