The Masamune,
The hair of white,
The eyes which gleam,
Of mako light.

One hears the drum,
Of heartbeat stilled,
The hatred boils,
Though blood is chilled.

The muffled tick,
Of watch in cloth,
Behold the demon,
Sephiroth.

The mythic blade,
Of pure refine,
The finest sword,
Forged by makind.

Two meters long,
A curve so shallow,
A saber mighty,
Its power hallowed.

Its bite will end,
A life too soon,
The wrath of steel,
The Masamune.

With twinning peaks,
Of Cetra fair,
Arise the locks,
Of evil's hair.

The lightest grey,
And pale as snows,
Over blackened cloak,
It flows.

The ancestors,
And He do share,
One likened trait,
The Ancients' hair.

In darkened space,
The first light gleam,
Are eyes immersed,
In the Lifestream.

A gaze intense,
A silent glare,
Twin pools of evil,
In his stare.

Flourescent light,
An eerie glow,
The evil shine,
Of cold Mako.

The heartbeat ceased,
By Aeris' death.
The wretched stealing,
Of her breath.

Hatred rises,
While he descends.
Wrath shall be,
The last amends.

Tears stream quite free,
As she is slain,
And he must die,
For Aeris' pain.

Scourge Jenova,
Weak Hojo spawn,
Lucrecia's folly,
Is bade be gone.

The count is down,
The time at hand,
To rid your evil,
From the land.

Spurt from you face,
That crimson bile,
Be gone your ever,
Present smile.

Your body slashed,
Your weak flesh torn,
Your face removed,
Of all its scorn.

Your eyes lose their,
Empowered leer,
And take the wretched,
Tone of fear.

Your body drained,
Of all its strength,
Your scream remains,
Silent at length.