What a pity to be so undone
The greatest of tragedies to be unsung.
With each step weighing the weight of ten suns.
Finally I got the message; I’m done.

I felt it leave that night,
The deep whisper inside the blight.
A tyrant voice with a song of reason.
hardy, bruised, and fiercely seasoned.

It left in the icy winter wind,
taking the last good thing a good man defends.
The last good thing that makes a man,
now a hollowed creature with an act to pretend.

"Your fate was made from the start," he spoke in a riddle.
Each word is alone and disorganized, as an undone puzzle.
And the knife in his hand, to the right, and the purpose it had,
loosely held by a man who had recently gone mad.

"From the start?" the victim could only reply,
with his only thought the contemplation of how he will die.
Fear had conquered him; bought him, and held him.
But that was not his final mad mistake; the man was already dim.

"Everything is for a single reason," the assailant fit the knife where it has always been.
"Fate is neither ***** nor is it clean."
"It is neither late nor is it early."
"This the one truth we know truly."

"Time is inevitable; it makes slaves of us all."
"Your death is undeniable. Rebellion serves nothing but to stall."
The knife felt like a sheet of ice over his old his heart,
and the last thing he whispered before he died, "From the start?"

Understanding sometimes seem like a natural destiny.
It seems something we are born of or born from, and shrouded in mystery.

Where the truth is rarely clear and the lies are deafeningly loud,
and all life is met at the crossroad, where they are bent or bowed.
There, a World Maker decides; a new world to be born.
And reality is stretched in two and, of course, torn.
One pulled to the left and the other dragged to the right.
But in you, a sure fear yours was made of untested blight.
And understanding?
Well, that's gone. Gone as suddenly as it was a kind of thing.

Love is maddening.
What we know of it is pitiful and saddening.
But a decision must be made.
So, again, I'll test my fate.

American whispers are clouding your mind,
denying you of that time when you were kind.
Now their voices are rising nothing but war
against the desperate and the desperately poor.

But even then, underneath the soaring wings of pessimism,
A new humanity is born right through the cataclysm.
It cleanses the old that is slowly and surely dying,
and shuts the ears to American whispers with their lying.

I raise the sun in the morning,
and the moon in the night.
I sing the stars into being,
and chase the darkness out of sight.

I blow the wind that moves the worlds,
and forge the rains that falls ahead.
I do this all, alone and scared
that you won't know me until I'm dead.

What is of a warrior wounded, defeated, and tired?
And define a soldier with no courage is a coward.
What names a bird forever banned from the sky?
And what says a wolf that cannot beg for the moon's light.

If purpose is the sure path to happiness,
what am I that I have so much less?

Where and how should the blame rest?
For the soldier and the bird, and even the wolf did their best.

could the message be ever so clear?
Could it be it be true we no longer belong here?

And that voice deep in our head that seems to know all,
what part will it play--to our victory or to our fall?

Enough... cradle your thoughts and let them not grow.
Now say your final goodbye, and take your leave home.

I am known for a hundred thousand reasons to be hated,
This, a foretold punishment for denying what's fated.

Finally, you are better than me,
I say, and yield my sword and shield, and take a knee.

Forgive me, if you will, my only crime:
assuming I could live my way this life of mine.

Would you trust me If I told you I knew evil?
Would you believe these words if they were spoken not by a hero?
No?
I dreaded so.

To the nature that holds so strong,
that fixes the compass to right and wrong,
I pray you peace,
and leave us be
so that a human is full and whole,
complete in mind, body, and soul.

So, yes, I've met evil. Though not in me,
but in the world I can only see.

It's just another mental war,
when all the voices rise against the cause,
and the lights we aspire illuminates our faults.

To think only a god can take away this plight--
this white fire that screams through the pitch black night--
when all I've done is curse their names and challenge their right.
But now I can finally see. There is no strength left in me to end this fight.

The weird sisters said their peace, at last.
And I could feel it--their poison that mixed with the air.
Like impure thought, blind to mortal eye, and true to its task.
"All hail, Macbeth, Thane of Cawdor," they plot their snare.

And me, the noble and fair man I've always been, I cursed this seance.
No usurped crown can take lightly to the mind of its host.
The same crown offered to none other than my Fleance.
For his sake, let God and men know, I will do the most.

Birds took to the sky in a frenzy,
stirring up the wind and blowing white clouds into black.
what was once calm and fair became nervously uneasy,
and each step left the mark of failed generations on our backs.

Hesitantly the moment matures,
almost the like of children who refuses to grow.
Words were too ready to meet the future,
but I was too scared to admit what was so clear a blind man could hold.

The radio turned to play the same old song.
We've danced to it a thousand times, if I can count.
Never before have I ever loved for so long.
Never before have my heart ever taken so far down,
when you came and said the words I was too much a coward to utter:
"Baby, we need to talk," you broke the ominous silence,
and carefully and gently crafted the weapon of my ******.

Expectation is the enemy.
It will corrupt you, and extend your madness to eternity.
Compassion is the true friend,
for fewer things are more descent than a trust that will not bend,
or a confidence that will not shatter.
Then, and only then, can the meaning of love be of matter.

I've seen dishonesty at first hand,
and the success it brings the plan;
and to the planner, eternal greatness,
so why should I be more than lawless.

I lived with it; I laughed with it; I called it friend.
I learned from it that whatever comes in end,
your selfishness must always shadow your sins.

All good intentions have spawned in me a state of unrest,
where when flirting with gods have left a hole inside chest.
Till "foul is fair, and fair is foul" am I truly at my best;
a Shakespearean rage to curse me to a prophesied death.

My greatest fear in life is loneliness.
As I've been in it from origin, should I not be now fearless?

The nights may be calm and quiet,
but the mind is in always a riot.

A frenzy of images and sounds
that frees me from the man-made shackles to which i'm bound,

and sets me apart, either human or else.
Either way, I could not possibly care less.

Who am I to stand against what blinds me,
and play, for ill or bless, the game's authority?

Could it be possible to be just a watcher?
A shade behind the scenes? A mind without a wonder?

If this world is to end, and is to end well,
why must I be the hero that sees its doomsday fail?

But save it, if I could,
then save it then, I should.

Without a cause, selfish, or malice,
should I burden your world like the Titan Atlas?

Here I'm faced with the decision of gods and devils:
a single, poor, and lonely moment to test my evil.

My mind is starved, and my heart aches.
My unfortunate soul begs, "prithee, a break."

When next I wait; when the hour says I'm too late,
I could have molded the promised nights with your fate.

So now, the water inside rises to your eyes,
and still upon this subject my judgement flies.

But we will survive this,
forever shaken, and however less our bliss.

To whatever we commit, may they die in darkness;
So deep and too black for heaven's eye to ever find us.

To the sound of our guilt, may we bury it in the ground,
or to be flung into space, where it will not make a sound.
And the minds of the curious, may they never take chase,
to preserve a hero's honesty: A life without a face.

"And all this plight in the name of family?"
What else could more earn a savage's loyalty?

The perfect thing to make us into beasts,
guided alone by the thirst to eat,
but in us, a hunger to ever make right
all things we see wrong that hides in the light.

While we hold in the darkness, waiting for their call,
to forsaken our soul, lest we watch them all fall.

Let not kindness cause you harm,
or the threat of loneliness make you calm,

Let not fear break your heart,
when true love comes to see your faults,

Let not their opinions shape your form,
to rage through life as a crashing storm,

and finally, let not flaws be your cause,
accept reality, and take what's yours

Commit all your evils suddenly,
take care your generosity briefly,
and above all, respect all words you speak proudly,

So is the making of the greatest empires,
a house of thought built by kings and liars
to best prevent the world to drown it in fire

Write a song for me,
something I will remember in the morning,
because right now, there's nothing in my head worth remembering,
just an unclear image of what I'm becoming,

So write me a song,
And before long,
I will repay you for this wrong,
but for now, do me this favor and give me a place I belong.

I imagined I was special, born to follow a different path,
but here again I am with nothing but a wrath,
Now I imagine I am everything but special,
like a shadow with no profile,

So, finally, leave me be,
alone where I belong without your sympathy,
for I am nothing but a perfect storm coming,
take this as your last warning.

Leave and never return,
otherwise, you'll just be another fire to add to the burn.

No real care must come from this,
Oh, thought a man seeking true bliss,

No love, no honor,
nor glory or valor,

stills a man's heart to beat in cower,
and bath his soul in tears of sour,

So no, no real care must come from this,
those who agree shall know no bliss.

Deep into the shadows of the whispering cold
comes into life the talks of the old,
along they shout such tales to be told,
of beauty, of lies--what madness unfolds,
and the form that they take, and the faces they hold,
devised a reflection to capture my soul,
the one thing that matters, the sole thing I'm owed,
would not have been mine were I not so bold.

I always thought of myself as something special,
so much that the very words I speak would go viral,

I always knew I was too different,
it was a gift given to me by my first demon,

until every night I go out again,
thinking with each mistake, I am destined to win

but the world would have me be proven wrong and a loser
so you will forgive me while I treat this alcohol as a painkiller

I am nothing,
I know nothing,
all I see is changing,
all that lives is dying,
until the sun is done giving

If you search, you will not find me,
and these words, you will never read,
my weary voice, you will never hear,
my warm touch, you will never feel
until when I die, do not shed a tear

Like statues and lamps are alone when they stand,
alone here I am with no love and no friend,
so despite how far and wide I extend my hand,
still the voice echoes I am ******,
until eternity makes her final dance,
to take me to the realm of old men

My voice is too quiet to be heard.
My words are too hidden to be read.
So why forsake my loyal bed
for a crusade that was born dead?

come one, come all to the tale of the east,
where stayed a great hound who did nothing but eat,
so all of it's foes thought it a simpleton beast,

when finally captured, the people rejoiced,
to later realize it hadn't a choice,
to be what it is, and pretend to be lost,
with a terrorizing roar to serve as its voice.

My only crime was human love,
a clear and divine sign from God above,
that life is meant to spend in bliss,
but you already made a list,
of things you want and things you don't,
and on that list, I was a con

Before men were the Giants,
massive, strong, and free to be defiant,
they were ethereal, magical, and without distractions,
and their celestial bodies were filled with formless actions,

But then came the humans with simplicity,
reacting harshly to specificity,
thus ending the reign of the mighty Giants,
and entered the age of humans and tyrants,
which seemed to consume all signs of happiness,
and issue in a world of madness.

I keep seeing these imaginary spaces:
friends, family, and happy faces,
happiness and kindness all in one place,
and for a moment it makes me forget that I'm your shame,
but I know better than to be dazed,
by mental pictures and moving images,
I know to you, I'll always be a disgrace,
and the deepest and greatest of your mistakes

Politics is our last name,
it's where morality is slayed,
and our mind become stained,

You think kindness will save the world?
You think protest will help them learn?
You think peace is a clear word?
This is earth,
learn to survive it, or die its worse.

It served only to break my mind,
and put a dagger to my side,
when you swore that you were mine,

But it's okay,
Lucifer is on his way,
entering the golden gate,
to brighten the night and shorten the day,

But don't worry, I'll be fine,
Earth is where my love died,
and hell is where I feel alive.

We're not in love,
in fact, we despise the word,
and if we ever come across it,
we surely will slay it,
together,
always and forever

We found something better,
something free without a master,
something that understands the age of time,
something stronger than love's fever,
each other,
always and forever

I met a bird that couldn't fly,
and a fish that couldn't swim;
I met an owl that hated the night,
and a bee that couldn't sting,

And they all asked me, "why?"
I said, "because some of us are made of the broken parts of our better,"
so they asked, "Then how do we get by?"
I answered, "maybe if we stick together,"
and we all laughed so hard, we cried.

Every part exist for a common reason:
the protection of the peace and the protection of our children,
so the head of the body must always stay sound,
and the body of the head must never unbound,

The head of the beast must never rest easy,
for the parts closest the neck will always be greedy,
and the part that are below the chest will aspire to rise,
so the head of the body must always be wise,
respectable, noble, and never is he wrong,
to feed the illusion that his will is still strong,

Whatever you've heard of me,
in the sounds so thick you can barely see,
know this, this only truth to hold:
everything I did, everything sordid or bold,
I did it all for you,
and for your mother, too

To you, I will be a knight of the highest order,
a hero in shinning armor,
but to the world I will be a monster,
a vile, ugly, and disgusting disaster,

you will only know one side,
the one my heart dared not to hide,
and the world will know another,
the one my mind hope is the stronger,
but know this, I will always and forever protect you valiantly,
and your enemies, I will always and forever meet violently,

all I ask is for you to forgive me,
and know that daddy's a monster so you wont have to be

It seems my voice enters a void,
where it deepens alone to be destroyed,
in good times I am threatened to it quits,
pack my words, my mind, and all my wits,
to a far away planet away from earth's mess,
where light-years are tired, and ideas are mindless

but, alas, I have not wings like Icarus,
only his fire to make misery obvious,
falling back to earth, where it claims I belong,
falling back into the mess where none cares what is wrong

I say the human race is one of virtue,
noble and kind, and made of truth,

despite transgression and in all they are wrong,
it must be realized that they are still so young,

and look to all the care and greatness they've fashioned,
hope and will and goodness guiding their action,

when fumble, they panic and doubt and forsake all their self,
to a tempest and dark-wind to raise their distress

with that, in their worst, they are not as bad as they know,
so leave them to my watch, and I'll see that they grow.

"Here son, see all this world I've heeded,"
"And in it I've allowed wolf and sheep,"
"The west to the first, and to the second, the east,"
"If ever, by chance or tragedy, they should meet,"
"They will understand that it was not meant to be,"
"for one is wolf, and the other, sheep,"
"more destined to part than a babe to weep,"

"And should they meet to discuss philosophy,"
"They will see to neither side reasonably,"
"for one is wolf, and the other, sheep,"
"neither is right nor wrong, but to the west, the wolf, and to sheep, the east,"

I'll take what love you have to give, if even temporary,
I'll do anything to tame this murderous worry
I'm tired of the sorrow that mount,
Into a tidal wave to take me nowhere but down

While all I see in descend are happy faces,
Which inspires my belief that happiness must be a racist

For what cruelty would deny my kind, monsters, life's prime luxury,
Nothing but happiness, like a guitar without strings,

While there it is in my existence,
Yet so far out of it that it seems an illusion

In the end, all I can do is laugh,
At life's horrid joke on my behalf

You're not good enough, is all I hear,
"You're not good enough to be here,"
I thought this world was for all of us,
for you, for me, despite our faults

"You're not good enough to be here,"
why are those words all my ears hear?

despite those words; those empty threats,
I'll live my life for all the best,
a single life is all we get,
so use it wisely, without regret.

War, in this time is all the chatter,
an unwrapped present left by our fathers,
to fight and die, to keep what's ours,
before our time begin to sour.

War is the echo that awakes peace,
a brutal moral taken from beasts,
before the new world was all but seized,
to cultivate human disease.

War, the best way we have to take what's another's,
the best way to ignore a child's bother,
but if we are so far evolved,
why must war be our prime resolve?

I'm not exactly who you think I am,
the words I speak, I do not think,
I read your mind and see what you need to hear,
so I talk it, hoping you're listening,
It's not entirely my fault,
I was born without a face, empty, and dull

You only see those with eyes,
so I pretend to see to get by,
maybe I'm too young, too late, and too old,
but all I've ever known is the night and her cold,
All I really want is a new beginning,
all I've ever wanted to see in you was a face smiling,

So I'll pretend to be something I'm not,
until my last shred of identity rots,
because you wouldn't like who I am
under all the clothes is a wolf made of scam,
a wolf, young, scared, and confused,
so much, he doesn't know his own howl from the moon

A million miles from home,
I'm going to hell,
Don't bother making prayers,
You never cared,
Instead you should all dance,
Cause I'll be nowhere,

My voice, despite its echo
Was never heard,
And the words I left to find me,
They were never read

Until now the only thing I ask
Is to spend what's left me:
Tiny pieces of mistakes,
Where you left me,
In the space where I met Ms. Insanity.
Where I'll never love again,
because you left me

a day is too short to see my best,
For I am imprisoned in a human shell,
Forced to see life in a cell of flesh,

I cannot see time like the gods of Rome, or Greece, or Christian kings
I cannot meet the sun or Apollo's greet.

So finnaly life has forced me to be just me,
without a choice,  that's what I'll be,
And I apologize if there's a time I cannot see.