Is it any wonder this is where my years rests?
Gathering words to uncover my best,
whilst I lie to myself that I hold no regrets.

In truth, this is my cry for help;
a silent wind carrying my yell,
a yell that every ear would have repelled.

So I banish my hope in a heroic's depth,
for every hero I conjure, an angel to save myself,
and every villain, a demon to take my breath.
And to this grim reality, I surrender what's left.