Mercenary's Diary

I never want to hear it again. My hands are bound, for everything I have seen has altered my thoughts. Yet time passes, and the war continues. There is no longer any mention of God's love or human rights. Those hands, drenched in blood and capable of hypnotizing others, have swept away these beautiful dreams. Who is it that places the sacred cross upon the murderers, while history alone tolerates the wounds of civil war?