The graveyard mist swirled thick and cold.
Headstones whispering secrets untold.
I've got a silver bullet with my name on it.
Labeled an outcast, a recluse, a monster wearing my own shoes.

The mirror reflects a face I despise.
Haunted eyes that tell countless lies.
The bullet gleams, a question it asks.
Will it shatter the monster, or shatter the masks?
The wind...