Dreaming on his death bed,
Looking like a dead man.
All the mourning faces,
Come to see him; He's vacant.
Had a knack for artists,
Paint something for the supremicists.
Their minds lack imagination.
He can be the one to blame.
Push him into leadership.
He will serve poison dishes,
and **** the competition.
Then he'll be a betraying motivation.
How could he be pure if he is forced to sin?
He is a dead living *****
Waiting for his time to rot
He'll stand still and the world will continue running
He's here
All of you looking down on him
He's inanimate
His eyes shut by shy hands
And multiple hands and lips
close to pray.
Many feet follow in unison.
Pay their respects.
Then leave in scattered steps.
Everything in death.
May be in comparison.
Kiss him goodbye.
Promise him he won't fade from your mind.
Cause senselessly
He fought
He died
Now he wishes his family could forget