Strange the way things are so easily broken.
                     Even stranger is how delicate they are when built.
                     Like hands, small... soft and gentle on a baby
                     But so easily destroyed by another.
                     Hearts... not an element of strength about them,
                     But they suffer the most and yet...
They continue to beat...
Sometimes slower like mine,
       I feel the force of time
                   Slowing
            Stuttering at points
              And even SHATTERING.
we               A world too arid... too destructive and self imploding
breathe                To allow any such existence..... A Hero...
  sin                             We slaughtered the ones we had.
  and                               Jesus beaten and nailed to a post...
   saviors                              Burnt at the stake... I suppose.
                                                     Because we are scared.
                                                        Petrified and screaming from a man
                                                        That had mastered redemption
                                                        we corrupted the only hint of peace we imagined.
                                                        we are the masters of nothing.

Now as he floats in space with the stars we murdered to save our "souls"
We bleed empty bones and blame everyone else for our guns to our head,
Shaking... will you smile when you die....