No super-soldier serum, no suit of high-tech steel
Just a steady hand on a wooden grip and a focus made of zeal.
While gods are throwing lightning and the monsters scale the wall,
He’s checking his quiver, standing twenty stories tall.
He’s got a wife and children in a farmhouse out of sight,
The human heart of a team that’s always looking for a fight.
He doesn't miss a target, he doesn't blink an eye,
Just a man with a string and a feather against a blackened sky.
I see it all from the birds-eye view,
One perfect shot and the arrow flies true.
I’m the guy with the bow at a cosmic war,
Keeping the rhythm, keeping the score.
From the streets of New York to the Budapest rain,
I carry the weight and I mask the pain.
You can call me the archer, call me the eye—
The one who stays grounded while the rest of them fly.
But the world went dark and the family disappeared,
He traded in the purple for the blade that everyone feared.
A Ronin in the shadows, lost in the crimson tide,
With nothing left but anger and nowhere left to hide.
Until a hand reached out, a sister and a friend,
Reminding him that even broken arrows still can mend.
He gave it all for the soul stone, he would have taken the fall,
Because the man with the bow is the bravest of them all.
In a city under siege, he’s the one who makes the play,
"The city is flying and I’ve got a bow... it makes no sense today."
But he notches the string, he breathes in the cold,
The silver-tongued veteran, the heart made of gold.
I see it all from the birds-eye view,
One perfect shot and the arrow flies true.
I’m the guy with the bow at a cosmic war,
Keeping the rhythm, keeping the score.
From the streets of New York to the Budapest rain,
I carry the weight and I mask the pain.
You can call me the archer, call me the eye—
The one who stays grounded while the rest of them fly.
Just a mark...
Just a shot...
In the dark...
I never miss.
