The knife sheathed
Wiped clean of stains
The master waits
Until the pain
Deep inside
His very brain
From the voice forces him
To kill again
The blade
Unsheathed
Requires
A body's bleed
The master kills
To pass the test
And the knife
Is at rest
Sheathed
Wiped clean of stains
And the voice
Lifts the pain.
And for a little while
At least
The master
Is at peace
Like the knife
He is sheathed