Fear only has power when I cower under the illusion.
Yanking at my leg, straining every muscle, my customized Gray Ghost rebuilt as a chopper sparks and squeals. My boot catches and I'm flipped. Sliding down E-70 Highway on leather, my gloves scrubbed by the tarmac.
To sore make bad energy, make innocent cry, Aisyx no spread pain plague.
You are my flower and I am your stem holding you to the light.
It destroys and resurrects in equal measure. It's paradigm shifting. The man I was before Nada has perished and left a changeling who is lost in the delicate art of awe and humble appreciation.
Lady, when I met you I must have run through a puddle of luck