What is a man if not the lightness of night and the darkness of day?
A crush of sullied confusion, a mess of uneasy contradiction
Drven by his own stolen ideas and lifes fractured ideals.
Is this what makes a man?

What is a man if not the dreamers lie and it's devious truth?
In all of its bitter failings and its many crushing defeats
Of private investigations uncovering endless regrets and remorse
Is this what it takes to be a man?

Ssshh..let him be, leave him rest, for tomorrow dawns another day
When all these questions and doubts
Shall be answered by a starlings call or the piercing of a silver bullets heart
Perhaps that's what it shall take to call oneself a man?