I once knew a man who lived on a battlefield
His armor is of will, his sword but a rotting steel
Once every year, time would force him to yield
Yet he stood still
I once knew his heart, scars on every part
Yet like a prominent art, he stood still
There's something about him
Life is nothing but grim, yet his light is everything but dim
As we speak, the man is at the mountain peak
As he eyed the strong and weak,
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