More treacherous than war... are the battles within a heart.

Perched between branches and shadows,

We watch, we scheme,

Fighting for a kingdom forgotten and forlorn.

Until we rip her away with our claws,

Our prisoner, our pawn, our plaything.

She's innocent and pure,

Fragile and helpless...

...but oh so guilty by blood.

She calls us beasts,

Wicked and evil,

Vicious and cruel.

We are all that and worse.

One of us offers her shelter beneath his wings,

Whispering promises of pleasure,

Seeking redemption.

The other longs to shatter her into a million pieces,

Whispering promises of pain,

Seeking revenge.

Caught between our feathers,

She endures our deranged desires,

Our secrets, our lies,