Blood trickling down my forehead,
move forward.
Gun's empty, swords' swung plenty.
You back off, like it's done and finished,
I look up at you and say, "Really? try me."
It's like I have to challenge myself,
to feel the motion,
i have to fight with my own spilled blood to give you the right notion.
My feet blister,
the hill grows taller and the sun burns hotter,
move forward.
My body is parched but I always have enough to give.
So why don't you just accept that I never stop fighting for love?
Because I never give in.