Lonely are the minds devoid of dreams
where fear  rules the intellect of tyrants
who cast shadows longer than nightfall
thriving on the anxiety too often common
to the elusive and grim nature of mankind
truly, is this the explanation of me?

Lonely are the hearts devoid of emotion
for the lives and well-being of humanity
only concerned with the decadence
to satisfy warped and conjured missions
of a manifest destiny lacking true justice
truly, can this be the legacy of me?

Lonely are the eyes devoid of vision
yet foresee the ugliness in the deeds
to extinguish the beauty dormant in souls
whose innocence can be pure or tainted
with the ordeals that come with this life
truly, is this the definition of me?

Who me?  Too perfect, this cannot be me
Who me?  God fearing, this cannot be me
Who me?  Unforgiving, this cannot be me.