I learned the blade from dead men’s hands, Ink and blood in the margins. Not myths, not crowns, Just structure, timing, and leverage. Measure before intent, Feet before the strike. If you don’t own the distance, You don’t own the fight. Posta di donna, weight on the hip, Violence coiled, quiet, still. Vom Tag high, sun over steel, Every opening bought, never given. This isn’t strength, It’s structure. This isn’t rage, It’s control. You cut to end me. I step offline. I take the center. Now it’s mine. IN THE BIND I READ YOUR FEAR PRESSURE TALKS AND I’M STILL HERE WIND AND FEEL TAKE THE LINE YOU PUSH HARD I CUT TIGHT Lichtenauer wrote it back then: Strong and weak play different. If you force it, you’ll be fed To the edge you never read. Zornhau breaks your crown, Krumphau eats your guard. You chase power. I hold balance. One of us won’t walk far. Absetzen, thrust through thought, Your plan died without time bought. I don’t need speed, I don’t need hate, Just timing held a half-step late. IN THE BIND YOU SHOW YOUR HAND STEEL REVEALS WHAT YOU INTEND I DON’T STRIKE RASH I ALIGN BONE AND EDGE AND BREATH AND TIME This isn’t sport. This isn’t play. This is consent To be corrected. Every scar a footnote, Every bruise IS proof. You don’t win with force You win with truth. Fioré wrote it softer The fight is finished Before they're strike is offered. MEASURE TEMPO LINES STEP CUT TAKE WHAT’S MINE READ FEEL WIND IN THE BIND UNTIL YOUR END
