This scar upon my eye,
Which doth make sight seem a lie,
Holds me back from my truth,
Having been placed upon me in my youth.

The butcher knife which came hunting for my head,
Left my mother's murderer cold and dead.
A life full of vengeance ahead,
Filling the souls of evil with dread.

A new rage of pain inside,
I hunt for a new pride.
No longer villains hide,
As I raise the evil tide.

The slashing of the butcher knife,
Killing an old friend's wife.
The thirst for blood,
Apparent on my faced cloaked by a red hood.

The heroes of the world come and go,
But I watch their final death throe.
A hero no more,
All I hunt for is pure blood and gore.