When the moon strikes on the sky

And the clouds wave in a breeze

Of ecstasy, that's where the vigilant eye

Of the warrior prepares the fight.

The next day he will wake

Under the cheering public that hollers

For his great achievements,

And he must not let them die.

Fly, O mighty heart, and make

The cold souls warm and gentle,

Because in your nature is to put

A smile on the face of rainbows

And to let your guests taste

The sweet red syrup of your life. 

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