none

It rises again, closer this time and more interupting
I don't know if it will consume all of me
Or just the good parts and let me be
I guess it is not my choice, but there isn't much I can do
I fall into the game and choose my pieces, gather my strategy
But never do I win, or even give a fighting chance

Now pictures are all I have, and not even too many of those
I got them from a another one, and the stories too
Everyday I see 'em, everyday they live on I guess
It's not a game, it's not really a survival
A way of life, although it isn't our lives that leads the way
It's not even our choices that give our fate
Something else, bigger...smaller, depends on who you ask

All I can do now is clean the tools and soak the wounds
Wrap the bandages and tie off the loose ends
Follow through on actions I take and not go of it, even if it looks at me
Take the impact and revenge with a force ten times over
I say deliver me to the evil and justice shall be served
Or deliver me to death and let honor be thy name.



Poetry by AZ
Read 975 times
Written on 2005-08-09 at 18:15

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